


Courting Mishaps

by LearnToShareFeanor



Series: Fools in Love [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AND ECTHELION, Also bride prices, And because of Maeglin, And is having empty nest syndrome, And is like 'whoah', Awkward gifts, Ecthelion fights Rog's sister, Ecthelion is tired of their BS, Ecthelion reacts badly to surprises, Ecthelion thinks Glorfindel and Erestor are moving too fast, Elves aren't always the wisest, Erestor is desperately in love, Finally meeting Rog's sister, First Times, Gilya is still awesome, Glorfindel is a dumb sweetheart, Interesting ancient elvish traditions, Medieval Jousting in a Tourney, Multi, PEOPLE LIKE GLORFINDEL, Puppies, Rated T for Safety, Referenced Gilya/Lord of the Silver Fountain, Rog doing Rog stuff, Salgant's a little you know what, The Fall of Gondolin- all deaths are mostly cannon, The rating is about to go through the roof, Thel freaks out, Unbreakable soul vows, You've been warned, because why not, but debating on killing him, female elves can be awesome fighters too, here have some angst, like storming castles, people die, sex in chapter 16, with fish hooks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-04-16 21:19:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4640598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnToShareFeanor/pseuds/LearnToShareFeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This takes place directly after A Midsummer Night's Dance, so if you haven't read it, I recommend doing so. You can read this without reading the first, but you may be a little confused. In this one, Glorfindel battles issues with his father and courts Erestor- or, rather, tries to. Meanwhile, snakes lie in Gondolin's streets, and their safety may not be as assured as they believe.</p><p>"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."- Closing Time</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Courting Mishaps- Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of the sequel to A Midsummer Night’s Dance- yay! As before, to keep from taking forever and a day to update, I will not be posting any of these until I have at least half the following chapter finished. This is directly after A Midsummer Night’s Dance, so if you haven’t read it, you’ll probably be very confused.  
> For this story, I am going with a somewhat traditional courtship (screwed up by the elven version of a golden retriever and a grumpy raven, of course), so there will be stages in it.  
> Also, college starts in 3 days, so I'm going to be aiming for posting up chapters at least once per month.
> 
> Translation: Ninquaion= Cold (ion-son of)  
> A chocolate brownie to whomever guesses what Glorfindel did wrong this time.

                 Glorfindel smiled past his broken nose as he ran his comb through unruly golden curls. He’d been unable to rid himself of said smile for the past two days, even as the gossips of Gondolin ran their tongues. He rose and stood before his armoire, his lips losing their upward curve. This would be the first time in two days he saw Erestor, and he needed to ask Ecthelion about courting him. Or would it be best to ask their mother? Shaking his head, he chose a well-worn pair of navy leggings with a lighter blue tunic. He froze for a moment, returned them and picked out a tunic in red. He bit his lip, put that back as well, and debated what to wear- this had never happened to him, but then again, he’d never had to formally request to court someone.

                He huffed and pulled the blue outfit again. Erestor loved blue. With that settled, he dressed quickly, stood in front of his mirror, straightened, and left. Within a few moments, he returned, looking at his reflection again. Perhaps he should wait until the bruising around his face faded? But what if he did, and Ecthelion took it as a sign he wasn’t as dedicated to Erestor as he claimed? He swallowed and left again, only to return moments later after realizing he hadn’t put his boots on yet.

                Somehow, he ended up in front of his father’s study. He and his father had never gotten along- the old elf had never accepted the fact he would never give him grandchildren- but it was worth a try. After all, he had gotten mother to marry him. He schooled his face and body into a firm, militant stance before knocking briskly at the door. His father had never really wanted a son; he had wanted a soldier to carry on the line. At the very least, he had always done the soldier part well. His father called for him to enter, and he did so.

                “What is it, Glorfindel?” His father asked, tone brisk and unforgiving. He mused that after he’d informed his father of his choice, he never had been called son again, almost as if he no longer was.

                “I was coming to see if you- ah, nevermind.” He ended, tossing that head of golden hair again. All he would get was told that he was making a mistake, and that he should find a nice elleth and marry her. “I apologize for disturbing you.” He bowed respectfully and turned to leave, before he stopped.

                “This is about Ecthelion’s brother, isn’t it?” His father inquired, stopping him. Glorfindel had never been a liar, and so responded, “Yes sir.”

                The older elf sighed and put one head in his hand. Many, Glorfindel mused once more, stated that he was the very picture of his father. The same bright blue eyes, tall frame, and broad shoulders. However, while his father’s hair lay flat, and was the average pale yellow, his own namesake lay in fierce curls and waves, the color of gold spun into strands. “How many times do I have to tell you to cease this, Glorfindel, before you listen?”

                Glorfindel looked up at him sharply. “You may tell me thus until the waters of Arda turn and flow back to Valinor. I do not leave what-or whom- I have vowed myself to.”

                His father looked up sharply at him. It was no secret that his father often strayed in his marriage with his mother, before she had been slain by one of Morgoth’s foul spiders. He seemed about to spit his usual foul poison but stopped, shoulders falling. “Do you think it would be possible for us to cease fighting? I would like to have my son back one day.”

                The golden haired warrior was shocked to such a degree that his façade slipped completely. “You are the one who stopped calling me son.” Glorfindel made a helpless motion. “I would like a father back as well, but not if he shall cease to claim me because of my love.”

                The sharp-eyed elf rose, anger coloring his features. “All I am asking is that you see some sense!” He snapped angrily, and Glorfindel bristled.

                “And all I ask is some loyalty from an elf who has broken every vow he has made, except for the one to his king. Good afternoon, Lord Ninquaion.”

                He left once again and determined that he would not return to his home for several hours. The last thing he needed was to get into another physical altercation with his father. He knew without a doubt that he would win, but some things, he’d learned, were hardly worth the effort. On the way, he stopped, picking a few nice looking flowers from the main garden. Many were the golden celandines and roses that were the namesake of his house, but he did find a few with small, pale white and green buds. Strangely enough, these were farther away from the main garden, almost as if they had been forgotten about. He thought them quite charming, even if he hadn’t seen anything with leaves of three yet.

                With his bouquet in hand, tied smartly using a spare hair ribbon, he left for the House of the Silver Fountain. There was nothing for it but to get it done- and besides, he’d get to see Erestor. The latter thought brought a smile to him once more. It was rather difficult _not_ to smile when thinking of Erestor, he decided.

                Though the walk wasn’t a short one, it seemed to be over as quickly as he started. He knocked at the front doors, and their manservant showed him in, promising to bring his master. Within a few minutes, Ecthelion warily headed down. “Tell me, my friend, shall we have a repeat of the day, a fortnight and some odd ago?”

                Glorfindel laughed. “I hope not- unless you know of some celebration I can utterly fail at asking your brother to join me at?”

                Ecthelion joined in the mirth, relaxing. “No, I’m pleased to say that I do not. What brings you here, Fin?”

                “I was wondering,” he began, unaccountably nervous, “may I court your brother?” _‘Perhaps,’_ he thought, _‘it is not so strange. It isn’t as if this may ruin my chance at having him, of course.’_

The dark haired elf sighed. “I was wondering how long it would take you. Yes,” he answered, and stopped Glorfindel’s thanks with a raised hand. “Yes- however, if I see my brother cry over you one more time, I will personally toss you over the tallest tower on the seventh gate.” The seventh gate was the gate which separated Gondolin from the outside world.

                He hurriedly nodded. “I will try my best to make sure he never does.”

                They stood there, quiet for a moment, before Ecthelion broke the silence. “Well?” He asked, and answered Glorfindel’s noise of confusion with a gesture to the staircase. “Unless you want me to ask him for you- and don’t even ask, I won’t- you should probably go up there.”

                “Who should probably go where?” Erestor asked from behind Glorfindel, shocking them both.

                “Erestor? Where were you?” Ecthelion asked incredulously. He had been in their foyer, speaking to guests until just a moment ago, and was sure he’d seen his brother head to his rooms.

                The shorter elf gave his brother an inscrutable look. “Thel, have you been hitting the wine again? I told you I was going to the market about an hour ago.”

                “No!” The older elf replied, too quickly. Shamefaced, he shifted a little. “Well, perhaps. But Maeglin was here, so-“

                “Say no more, brother.” All three shared a look of amused misery, as Maeglin, the arrogant royal, never ceased to flaunt his status. It had come to a head a few months ago, when the king’s nephew had disappeared for several months and then came back, refusing to tell anyone the truth of what had happened about him. He claimed he had been mining jewels- and indeed, he had carried jewels back- but there was a look about the young elf’s eyes that set them all ill at ease. Especially the younger generation, like Milui, Erestor, and Idril. They had grown up with horrors uncounted and knew all too well how terror could change a person.

                “Erestor?” Glorfindel asked nervously. He glared at the dark haired elf when Ecthelion dared to burst into snickers.

                At this, Erestor rolled his eyes and turned towards the blonde with a soft smile. “Yes?”

                “Would you allow me to court you?”

                The smile turned into a delighted grin, and Erestor leaned up to kiss him. They both studiously ignored Ecthelion’s disgusted noise, and Glorfindel decided to take that as an agreement. The two broke apart after a moment, and he cheerfully handed over the brightly colored flowers. “Are these for me?”

                The golden haired elf smiled once more and breathed the word “Yes.” At this, Erestor couldn't help but brush one lock of golden curls behind a point of an ear, at which Ecthelion dragged him off, mumbling something about propriety. Needless to say, neither Erestor nor Glorfindel particularly cared.


	2. Flowers and Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness people, I am beyond sorry. I've had internet troubles out the wazoo, so I haven't really been able to log on for a while or even read and respond to comments! Needless to say, I also haven't been able to post the next chapter of Courting Mishaps. Part of why it's taken so long is that I'm a full time student who also has a full time job, so when I'm not working, I'm at school or studying. The only time I have is on the weekends, and it's always taken up by friends, and this month, sickness. :-(  
> I'm still stuck in bed, but I managed to get up enough will to throw this one up for you. At the line break, I'm doing a rare switch into Glorfindel's point of view for the remainder (over half) of the chapter. I love plotting through Erestor, but after writing it through both characters views, it just made more sense through Glorfindel's. I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you'd like to see this through Erestor's point of view as a sort of extra chapter at the end.   
> Oh, and underlined italics are notes.

                The next morning Erestor was jolted out of reverie with an itch on his hands. He thought it odd, but paid it no mind and went back to sleep. Or, at least, he attempted to do so. The itch was getting worse, and he gave into the urge to scratch. A few hours later, when Anor had risen, he rose as well, a scowl on his face. The itching had not died down as he’d hoped, and instead gotten worse and even spread. Now his hands, arms, and part of his shoulders were covered in a painful, itchy, red rash. He dressed himself in light clothing, hoping to alleviate the annoying sensation, and quickly made his way to the healer’s office.

                After visiting the healer and receiving a lecture on what plants _not_ to touch, as well as a soothing cream made from aethelas and some other strange ingredients, Erestor was, to put it lightly, seething. “Poison ivy?” He griped to himself. “What kind of courting gift is anything with ‘poison’ in the name of it?”

                Glorfindel, who had maintained contact with the plant longer, was in worse shape. His hands, arms, shoulders, and parts of his face had broken out, and he too had received a stern talking to from his house’s healer. He had the idea to visit the house of the Silver Fountain and apologize, but he was swiftly disabused of that notion. Apparently, if he touched anyone before the blisters healed, they might become afflicted as well. He could only hope that Erestor did not share the same problem.

                While Glorfindel debated on dictating a note to a servant, Erestor plotted. Revenge would be had. Ecthelion, warrior that he was, wanted to go over straightaway and break Glorfindel’s nose for him again. Erestor, however, made him promise that he wouldn’t. His own vengeance would be swift, silent, and completely unexpected. It just so happened that he’d done some research on various herbs when waiting for the healer. Now, all he had to do was wait until he was well.

* * *

 

                By the end of the two week period of forced confinement, Glorfindel had sent no less than three letters, without response. He’d also sent flowers (with a note stating that there was no poison ivy, of course), which also gained no response. His first free day should have been a pleasant afternoon, but instead was one filled with worry. What if Erestor had ended up worse than he did, and was still suffering? What if, somehow, he hadn’t received any of his letters? The worst idea then occurred to him- what if he had decided not to allow an absolute fool to court him?

                Before he could leave to attempt to apologize further, a servant notified him of a gift- from Lord Erestor of the Silver Fountain, nonetheless! Perhaps not all hope was lost. He quite cheerfully received the large plate of sweets with a note on top. In the walled city, things that would make sweets, such as sugar and chocolate were rare, and so this sort of gift was rather extravagant. He was reaching for the first cake when he had the urge to read the note. The more he attempted to ignore it, the worse the temptation became, until he simply had to set down the sweets and pop the seal.

 

 

                _‘ Dear Glorfindel,_

_ I sincerely hope you are beginning to feel better after the debacle with the flowers. I must say, they were a very poor choice. Still, they do say that it is the thought that counts, don’t they? I find it odd as well that I have received absolutely nothing in the form of an apology ~~you dolt~~ , dear. Still, to show I have no remaining ire towards you, enjoy these. Consider them a just reward._

_ Ever yours,                                                                                                                                                                                                        Erestor of the Silver Fountain_

                The blonde frowned. He had sent several notes and letters to the dark haired elf. They had all been sent with the family’s main messenger, who was loyal to a fault. Suddenly, he had the temptation to hit himself. Loyal to _his father_ to a fault. So Erestor had received nothing and likely assumed he did not regret his actions. Glorfindel again glanced to the little cakes. _What would Erestor do?_

                He stood and headed upstairs to his own rooms, mumbling to himself all the while. “If I were Erestor, the first thing I would likely do is plot. But what would be good enough revenge?” Once there, he sat the letter down on his vanity and stared at himself in the mirror. “Obviously, he didn’t feel like having me hit by Ecthelion. So something more subtle.”

                He ran a hand through his golden mane and looked again at the note. “Wait- a just reward.” He stared accusingly at the cakes, wondering what evil they held. And then he smiled. Perhaps it was time to take a cue from Erestor. He knew just who deserved these.

                He straightened his appearance and left his room after slipping two of the three cakes into his pocket, and soon knocked upon his father’s study door. Once he heard the cool voice call him to come in, he took a deep breath and opened the door. “Where are the letters I sent to Erestor?”

                His father blinked, seemingly startled at the display of emotion. “Glorfindel, I am very busy. If you must disturb someone with your nonsense-“

                Uncaringly, he leaned over the sideboard where a servant had placed a small repast, and repeated his question. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his father hurriedly covering several notes and even what looked to be a map of the sewers from – was that Maeglin’s writing? Pity Erestor wasn’t here, he would know. While his father was distracted, he replaced the plain treats with those in his pocket, trusting in his beloved’s vengeful streak.

                “Boy, I know not of what you speak. Now get out!”

                He might not recognize another's writing, but he could recognize his- and his personal seal below that of his house’s standard. Rudely, he reached across the desk and grabbed them. “Then what, exactly, are these?”

                His father had no answer for him, but Glorfindel left triumphantly. After all, his father was about to get his just reward.

                He headed to his room again to get the note from Erestor as well as the last cake, and had to dodge his father as he ran down the stairs and towards the direction of the privies. From the noises inside, he judged that Erestor had indeed gotten revenge for the both of them. Before he could stop himself, he slipped the sweet into the messenger’s bag. He had no way of knowing that the next parcel was going to Maeglin.

                With that finished, he finally left to visit the House of the Silver Fountain. He simply hoped that Ecthelion wasn’t there.


	3. The Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel visits, Ecthelion doesn't, and Erestor muses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter doesn't have a ton of action or mystery in it, but the next chapter will be back to normal. I promise! I didn't want to make this chapter too long, and then have people bored halfway through the next one. :-) You may have noticed, but as the story goes on, I'm going more and more for past tense- this is intentional, and you'll find out why in a few chapters! Cookies to anyone who can guess. Unfortunately, we're also coming closer and closer to the fall. I should have chapter 4 up by the end of this month, but it may be early next month.

                 If any had known Erestor’s plot and asked his feelings on the matter, he might have replied ‘accomplishment’ or ‘devious’. He might’ve even said ‘vindicated’. He never would have said ‘guilt’.

                So far, it had all been Glorfindel’s fault. Glorfindel’s poor choice in flora, Glorfindel’s cold indifference to the misery he’d caused, however inadvertently. The point was, thought Erestor impatiently, that none of it was _his. He_ never retaliated, and so remained the innocent in the party. Now, he could no longer claim that. He had deliberately added a few drops of a tincture which commonly caused vomiting while the cooks were either busy or looking away, and then ensured that the finished sweets would be sent. While doing so, he’d feared that the toxin would cook out. Now, he feared the opposite. Somehow, it had never occurred to him that his actions could actually _hurt_ the blonde. So when a servant informed him that the golden lord was here of all places, he almost sent him away.

                Almost.

                Erestor had not yet become the clever diplomat, sly tactician, and feared elf he would be, but his days of facing the consequences of his actions with a cool mind had already put him at the top of his class. The self-depreciating elfling, of course, knew nothing of this.

                If someone had told him that he’d one day marry Glorfindel, his response would have been a secret smile and ‘I know’. If someone had said their love would endure many trials, he might have said ‘I hope so’. If anyone, even King Turgon himself, had told him he would one day be more intimidating than the golden warrior himself, he would have quite happily declared them mad.

                Within a few moments, he stood before the blonde in the drawing room, not quite able to look him in the eye. A shiver of terror slid down his spine at the manic grin he was receiving. Before he could question it, however, he was pulled into a massive hug which lifted him off of the floor and choked him. “Erestor, I missed you so! Are you feeling any better?”

                At this, the dark haired elf managed to squeak “can’t….breathe!” To his relief, Glorfindel released him immediately, looking very much like a rambunctions puppy chastised for greeting its’ master. He observed that the guilt was back in full force.

                He swallowed and coolly responded, “I missed you as well, Glorfindel, and I am quite well. Thank you for the concern.” His ever-analytical mind had noted that neither of them had moved back, and Glorfindel’s hands were still on his waist. He found that he didn’t mind, despite his lingering anger at the blond.  

                “That is good,” the blonde replied softly, enjoying the feel of the other in his arms.

                “I received your note, dear, and the treats.” He spoke, using the same soft tone.

                He was rather unsurprised at Erestor’s wince. “You didn’t happen to eat those, did you? They may have been- well, they were tampered with.”

                Much to Erestor’s shock, Glorfindel simply smiled. “Oh, I had no doubt of that. Once I read that you had not received any of my letters, I thought- If I were you, what would I do? And I decided there was likely some trick to those delicious smelling cakes.” The blond seemed pleased at his deduction, and Erestor let out a short huff.

                “You were correct. I was- _am,_ as a matter of fact- upset that you never sent anything.” Even through his irritation, the dark elf was unable to stop the flush at having been called ‘dear’.

                Glorfindel’s face contorted between anger and guilt, as well as something else Erestor couldn’t decipher. He shifted nervously and removed his hands from the other elf’s shoulders. Interpreting the movement correctly, Glorfindel tugged him closer until they were almost front to front. “No, no, meleth, it is not you who angers me. Never you!” He sighed. “My father had our messenger give him my letters- I only found out today.” He fixed eyes, blue as a summer sky, on those of mithril hue. “Forgive me?” He pleaded.

                Erestor allowed his head to fall forward onto strong shoulders and let out an aggrieved noise. “Nothing to forgive, Glorfindel. Except, of course, for my reaction. I should’ve known, I’m so very sorry.” Now that he thought about it, it made sense. After all, when had the irritating lord of the house of the Golden Flower _not_ tried to stand in between them? He wanted a half dozen elflings running around, from a high class elleth, and Erestor matched neither of those requirements.

                Glorfindel buried his face into Erestor’s  black mane and smiled. “It is as you say, Res, nothing to forgive. Not even I knew of his idiocy.”

                At that, Erestor let out a soft hum, finally beginning to relax. Glorfindel sighed as well when he felt warm arms wrapped about him. They stood thus for a moment, simply enjoying _not_ being in conflict for once. “Is it strange, Fin, that I keep expecting Thel to burst in at any moment and beat you senseless?” Glorfindel’s chest shook with barely contained laughter.

                “Only if he didn’t do it so often!” At this, they both laughed, and Erestor pulled them to a warm couch in front of the unlit fireplace.

                “Tell me, whatever did you do with those cakes if you didn’t eat them?” Glorfindel happily told the tale- though it had to be said, he did exaggerate the effectiveness of the treats. He felt no guilt at it, enjoying the extra attention. Looking into those silver eyes, so reminiscent of Ithil’s light on water, the mysterious papers on his father’s desk completely slipped his mind. He would remember later, and curse himself for it, but plans were already in motion that would bring their idyllic paradise to an end.


	4. Musings Before Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who hates naming chapters? I feel like it's never quite right. Meh.  
> Anyway, this one has come up a bit sooner than usual. Yay! The items that are underlined but NOT italicized are memories. I know this one is a bit long, but cutting it off at 1,000 words like I try to just completely screwed with the flow. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Oh, and I know that the ending to this chapter may seem a bit abrupt, but don't worry, chapter 5 is going to pick up right there. For uncommon games in the drawing room, there is this notation: (#). 
> 
> (1) Egyptian board game. Learn more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Senet  
> (2) Knucklebones- Roman gambling game made with 10 knucklebones, usually from sheep or cattle. Learn more here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knucklebones  
> (3) Dominoes were originally taken from a Chinese game, and the pieces were often made from carved white rocks or ivory. Now, they’re mostly plastic or ceramic.

                 Neither realized the time, and before long, a servant interrupted them to ask if she should set a place for the young lord. Glorfindel readily agreed and asked if Erestor minded if he left for a few moments to ask permission. After all, there was no need to waste good food if he wouldn’t be attending.

                Erestor shook his head firmly. Ordinarily, he was not an elf to meddle in the affairs of others’- however, if he had his way, Glorfindel’s affairs _would_ be his. His father had been interfering more and more as well, and he judged it time to stop it before it became worse. “Fin, if you ask his permission, you know he will simply say no. If you _tell_ him no, you take the upper hand away from him.”

                He nibbled his lower lip and Erestor privately mused that it was ridiculously attractive. He surprised himself by having the urge to lean over and take over the nibbling. Glorfindel sighed, bringing him back to the present. “I suppose you are correct- as usual.” He teased, “I just hate to defy him for such a small thing.”

                Erestor bit back his usual comment- one used since they had first met, and nearly guaranteed to start an argument- and instead made the most pleading, pitiful face he could. “Don’t you want to meet mother?” In truth, asking about his mother was playing dirty, and he well knew it. He knew Glorfindel missed his own mother dearly, and he also had no guarantee that she would come to the dinner table to eat, as she was an intensely private woman, especially after father had died. Though she loved both of them, she was often solely focused on her hobby of silver-smithing. She was focused to such a degree, in fact, that her rooms were on the bottom floor, with a small smithy instead of a study. Ecthelion often complained about this, but the raven haired elf understood perfectly. More than once, he had taken a selection of books down to her forge and read the day away whilst she worked.

                Glorfindel had never met her. She rarely left their home, and when she did, she visited only merchants who supplied metals and jewels. As merchants were of the lower classes, they were people that Glorfindel had been banned from conversing with. While Erestor and Ecthelion were allowed to speak to anyone from the lowest scullery maid to the King, Glorfindel’s father firmly believed that the classes should be separate. Erestor, of course, was less than amused at this bout of hypocrisy and took it as a challenge.

                “If you think she might be there, and it isn’t too much trouble for her, I would enjoy speaking with her.” The raven haired elf smiled, and Glorfindel decided, and not for the first time, that he would be happy if he could make that smile appear every day.

                “I’ll go chat with mother and make sure she’ll come down. If you write a note, one of the servants will be happy to deliver it for you!” He gestured to the writing bench near the lounge they’d been occupying and dashed out.

                Eyes dancing, the other elf couldn’t help but laugh. Sometimes, he had to wonder why he’d previously thought Ecthelion’s little brother would be a quiet, boring scribe. He hadn’t believed Ecthelion’s tales of a mischievous prankster until he’d been at the receiving end. He smiled as the memory washed over him.

                Glorfindel stared at the little scribe, hating himself all the while. Why couldn’t he just walk over there and talk to him like a normal person? He huffed in irritation and then eyed the perfect- and valid- reason to enter the libraries, where Gondolins’ scribes, teachers, counselors, and advisors were taught and taught others. He was carrying books- there must have been ten or twenty- and looked as if he were having a bit of trouble. Books? Hah! He was a warrior, he could more than handle it. And Ecthelion _had_ asked him to keep an eye out for his brother today. With that in mind, he set off and leaned nonchalantly against a bookshelf, slightly in the scribe’s way.

                “Need a little help with those?” He asked, unaware that his tone could easily be taken as mocking or teasing. 

                “I’m quite all right, thank you, Lord Glorfindel.” Was the polite, if a bit hurried, response. He frowned, unhappy with the refusal. Now he was right back where he started. Still, he was aware from experience that scribes tended to be pushovers. All he had to do was insist, and the frail little thing would be all over him. What he _wasn’t_ aware of, however, was that Erestor often helped his mother in the forge, building strong arms and shoulders, and that Erestor was many things- but _not_ a pushover.

                “No, no, I insist. Besides, that stack looks taller than you are!” He laughed. He would only find out later that Erestor’s height was a _very_ sore point for him. He saw the flush, however, and assumed he was only shy. Those silver eyes flashed with something, and Glorfindel gave him the best smolder he could summon up on such short notice.

                “Well, if you _insist_ ,” Erestor responded, offering the stack with a sly smile. He took it cheerfully, but wasn’t expecting the weight of it- after all, a tiny little slip of an elf was carrying it with moderate ease! Erestor had stepped forward when doing so, and he felt something solid move behind his left foot. Before he could react, Erestor grasped the books once more and pulled back. Trying to balance the sudden loss of weight, he stepped backward- right onto Erestor’s extended left foot. And then ‘SPLAT’ went Glorfindel- right into the fountain near the entryway.

                Feigning ignorance, Erestor gasped in surprise and quickly sat the books on a stool. “My lord! Are you harmed, lord Glorfindel?”

                Glorfindel sputtered, and leaned until he was sitting on the edge of the fountain. “Ah, no, I’m fine.” 

                “Oh, let me help you up- I insist.” At that, Erestor grasped his shoulders and pulled him completely out of the fountain and to a standing position as easily as a child might manipulate a doll a quarter of her size. Glorfindel gaped. And so it was, he was forced to explain to his captain why he showed up to duty soaking wet and with ink stains on his shoulders.

                Glorfindel shook his head once more, dispelling the memory, and scratched down a quick note on the pad of paper, sending it off with a cheerful young messenger. He then glanced around and realized that, for the first time, he was alone in the House of the Silver Fountain. Setting the pad down, he walked by the game boards and tables. Two chess boards- expected. After all, Erestor did love chess, and had never lost a game that he knew of. A Senet(1)board and its’ pieces stood ready to play in the far corner. He had to laugh at a few sets of dice and a set of knucklebones (2). Cards sat unassumingly on a counter near carved bones or white rocks, indented with odd dots (3). He vaguely remembered seeing two elves play with a similar set.

                A slight creak interrupted his exploration, and he turned to find Ecthelion opening the door. He observed the other elf and was relieved to find his sea-gray eyes amused. “So you are here! Erestor surprised me on his way to mothers’ forge. All I got out of him was ‘don’t touch Glorfindel, now move’.”

                Glorfindel laughed and Ecthelion soon joined in. His impression of Erestor in a hurry was almost perfect. Ecthelion leisurely walked over and took his arm. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

                Perhaps some of his surprise showed on his face, for Ecthelion continued, “Mother and Erestor decided to talk to me about fighting his battles for him.” His mouth turned down, and his tone left no doubt that he was displeased. “I can argue with Erestor- barely. But then mother joined in, and it was two against one.” He smiled ruefully at that. “I was told to apologize, but I would do it again in a heartbeat, so I shall not do us both the dishonor of lying.”

                The blonde nodded. Both he and Ecthelion were loyal to a fault- something that first started their friendship. There were also both stubborn as a pair of mules. Needless to say, they’d fought like this more than once. “I, for one, am happy that this is over. I was under the impression that Lord Rog hit hard!”

                Ecthelion snorted in an undignified manner. “Oh, I’m sure he does,” he leered.

                They both cackled and, after a few moments, managed to stop laughing. Their brief composure was ruined when the youngest of the house returned. “What’s so funny? And Thel, you’d better not be hitting Fin.”

                Erestor jumped as his older brother howled in laughter. Glorfindel found himself unable to explain, having to lean on one of the game tables for support. Erestor eyed them with suspicion. “Have you two been into the wine cellar again?” A lesson he’d learned soon after meeting Glorfindel was brought to his mind. When the blonde, Thel, and alcohol were together, laughter was sure to ensue. Generally, it was followed shortly after by screaming as one or both of them did something incredibly stupid and dangerous.

                “No, toron,” Ecthelion managed, “we were just-“ The rest of his sentence was cut off with a burst of bright laughter, and Erestor elbowed his brother impatiently.

                Glorfindel managed to calm down enough to say, “Rog hits hard.” Then, of course, the laughter began once more.

                Erestor looked at both of them in turn, trying desperately to figure out what had happened. And when and why had Lord Rog become involved? “Well, I hope the two of you calm down soon. Dinner’s starting in a few minutes, and mother will be joining us.”

                Ecthelion raised one proud eyebrow in confusion. “Mother will be joining us?” He asked.

                Erestor nodded. “Yes, she wanted to meet Fin. By the way, Fin’s joining us too.”

                A polite rap on the door announced one of the maids. “Lords, when you’re ready, dinner has begun.” She curtsied politely, and when Ecthelion nodded at her, left.

                “Well, anyone for dinner?” He asked, and both Erestor and Glorfindel snorted. Ecthelion pretended not to notice. His brother was sensitive, Fin was oblivious, and he was- some might say- over indulgent in good food and good wine. They were all wrong, of course, and _all_ soldiers ought to have a little more weight than a scribe. The three followed the serving girl and entered the dining hall.


	5. The Monster in Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Chapter 5 of Courting Mishaps is up and ready to go! Once again, please forgive all mistakes, as this is beta'd by yours truly. Let me know what you think in the comments, and if you find any mistakes so that I can correct them!
> 
> In other news, I'm looking for a good beta.
> 
> Please see the end notes for all translations.

                Glorfindel happily followed where the two brothers led. He’d been in the large dining hall, where important feasts were held before, and even to some of the smaller guest lounges, but they skirted these rooms, traversing a hallway with an oddly low ceiling. The room they entered was far from the rich, flowing tapestries, shimmering fountains, and shining silver he often associated with the House of the Silver Fountain. Rather, the polished wood floors had no rugs, and the table had no tablecloth or place settings. The iron bars of the table legs had been wrought in a cunning fashion to suggest vines, and supported an oval table made of some pale stone. Likely granite, he thought, realizing it was similar to the walls of their fair city.

                There were eight chairs which were exceedingly plain, but stuffed with soft feathers, and suggested comfort rather than control. He could hear clanking, movement, and the occasional command, and he realized that they must be directly across from the kitchens. Erestor noticed his confusion and tugged on one of his arms. “Come, Fin, have a seat. We do not stand on ceremony too much here.”

                Ecthelion had claimed the seat next to his brother, and so he sat across from them. “Isn’t this the servants’ dining room?” Glorfindel asked curiously. It was difficult enough, he thought, to have to serve ones lord and then have to eat in a separate hall. He had no wish to eat here and thus force them to eat in the kitchens or their quarters.

                Ecthelion nodded. “Yes, and sometimes we eat here too. Usually, they just take the Great Hall, as there are more of them than there are of us.”

                Glorfindel blinked in obvious confusion. This would have never occurred in his own home- his father would never allow it. His musings were broken when a beautiful, if absolutely filthy, elleth walked in. Her dark hair would have been shiny if not coated in soot, and braided back painfully tight. The soot marks continued on the left hand side of her pale face, where she’d evidently attempted to brush a lock of hair from her face. Her dress was rumpled, and was apparently a last-minute gesture, judging by the heavy blacksmith’s breeches she still wore. Heavy boots, covered in black scorch marks and dirt, adorned her feet, and her hands were only clean due to the heavy gloves she tossed on a sideboard. In all, she was the least lady-like elleth he’d ever seen in his entire life. And that included Artanis!

                Instead of excusing her appearance, however, she merely embraced Ecthelion and placed a warm kiss upon Erestor’s brow. She took one of the seats in between Erestor and himself and turned to him. “Greetings, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower, and welcome to my home.” Her cool, polite greeting was ruined by a sly smirk that left no doubt as to whom Erestor had learned it from. “My boys have told me much about you.”

                He swallowed, suddenly reminded of all the fights that he and Erestor, and those he and Ecthelion had gotten into. All the times he had defended Erestor from Salgants’ and Maeglins’ advances had conveniently slipped his mind, as had the knowledge that he’d fought for them at least twice as often as he’d fought against them. Belatedly, he realized that he’d been staring as Erestor jabbed him none-too-lightly in the side. “Uh- good evening, I- thank you for having me for dinner.” ‘ _Having me for dinner? Is that really the best I could come up with? ‘_

Ecthelion was hiding snickers behind a hand. Erestor didn’t bother to hide his giggles- of course, if anyone said he’d _giggled_ of all things, he’d be the first to deny it. “Oh, Fin, your ears are red!” Erestor cackled, and reached up to flick one of the offending appendages.

                Glorfindel twitched, squeaked, and promptly dug his fingers into a spot on Erestors’ knee, one which he knew was incredibly ticklish. Ecthelion fell to the floor, laughing madly, and Erestor grabbed his wrist, desperate to stop the attack. Somehow, the raven-haired elf ended up in his lap, arms about his neck. A cleared throat had the blood running to his face and the grin running far away.

                “I see you’ll fit in just fine.” The lady of the house drawled.

                Erestor began laughing once more and brushed his lips against his cheek before leaving the comfort of his lap. He remained heavily flushed under the amusement of Erestor and Ecthelion’s mother.

                “So, shall we eat?” Erestor asked, apparently attempting to detract attention from him. Glorfindel had never been more grateful. Dinner was served soon, and excluding Ecthelion, none had eaten since breakfast. Needless to say, conversation soon ceased.

                After the main meal, they began speaking once more. Thankfully, it stayed on gossip from Ecthelion about various residents of Gondolin (Erestor rolled his eyes, and occasionally kicked his brother under the table. He _hated_ gossip.), griping about having been punished for a teacher (“but he was _wrong_!), the newest work in the forge (“and stop kicking your brother, Erestor”), and a tourney that would be opening soon. If he won, he would have the honor of being princess Idril’s champion. That would mean her protection would come above all others’, but that vow didn’t frighten him. After all, Gondolin had stood for a very long time, and their walls could not be scaled. Something niggled in his mind. Hadn’t he seen a map of the sewers somewhere? Unable to place the thought, however, it went unmentioned and ignored.

                “Ecthelion, will you go make sure a carriage is ready for our guest? And Erestor, do check on that necklace for me, I’d hate if the metal got too hot.” The brothers looked at one another. Erestor’s task was nothing strange- they both knew their mother wanted the youngest of the brothers to fall in love with silver work as she had. It was normal, however, to send a servant to let the stablemaster know to ready a cart or carriage.

                “Just go, boys. I want to speak with Glorfindel here- privately.” She added, seeing Erestor’s worried glance.

                Ecthelion grabbed his younger brother’s shoulder and dragged him out of the room. “Come on, Res, you know she’ll kill us both if that chain melts.”

                The dark haired Elleth turned towards Glorfindel. “Follow me, please.”

                He did so, leaving the small dining area and entering a small back garden. “My name is Gilyā. You may call me that as well- it is much less formal than ‘Lady of the Silver Fountain’. And we are about to have a very informal conversation.”

                He bowed his head politely. “Of course La- Gilyā.”

                She tossed him an amused glance. “All propriety even though you hate it. I can see why Erestor likes you. Very well, to the heart of the matter. What are your intentions towards my youngest?”

                The question caught him off guard, and he stuttered a little before saying, “I intend to continue with our courtship.”

                She waved a hand and frowned, obviously displeased with his answer. “And? Are you going to court him until the end of Arda itself, or are you planning something else?”

                He flushed at this, uncomfortable with discussing such matters with the mother of his two closest friends. “Well, to marry him?” She glanced at him sharply with green eyes, and he realized that the brothers must have gotten their eye color from their father. He corrected himself, “I am planning on marrying him.” He almost added ‘if he’ll have me’, but then decided to leave it off. She didn’t seem to enjoy half answers or answers phrased as questions.

                “Good, good. You must realize that this is not the first courting- or even betrothal- request that I have had for Erestor. He’s a very wanted elf, though he knows it not.” She smiled, a little wistfully, remembering the times in Valinor when a clumsy blacksmith attempted to gain her hand. She certainly hadn’t made it easy on him. She brought herself back to the present and frowned. “This is, however, the first to ask his brother instead of his mother, and to ask Erestor before gaining permission.”

                He winced. He was perfectly aware that he should have come to her first, but he’d also heard the rumors. They said that no elf, male or female, who asked had ever gained permission. “So let me ask you this. Why did you go my eldest son, and not directly to me?”

                Glorfindel swallowed, realizing that this was _not_ the moment to allow his words to go ahead of his thoughts. He spoke slowly and carefully, desperately trying not to make a fool of himself. “I asked Ecthelion first, as if he did not approve, I had little chance of Erestor’s and less chance of yours. I then went to Erestor because it seemed foolish to ask permission for something when I did not know if Erestor would allow it or not.”

                She nodded, and he allowed a sense of relief to wash over him. Apparently, he’d given a correct answer. “Both good reasons. But after Erestor said yes, and Ecthelion approved, you had plenty of time to come and ask _my_ permission. It has been several weeks since the Midsummer’s eve celebration. Yet even now, as a guest to my table, you have not asked me. If Erestor had not pulled that stunt at the table, and not told me before hand, I would have not believed that you’d asked him at all.”

                Glorfindel nodded again, wondering if he should tell the truth or bluff his way out. He could put on a good bluff, he knew, but he feared those grey eyes would see right through him. And what would Erestor say? That thought made his decision for him. “I have heard, throughout Gondolin, that you have summarily rejected every courtship request you’ve heard for him. I thought, perhaps, that if we were able to meet and speak, you might not reject it so quickly.” His tone was leading towards a question, and he corrected it as soon as he noticed it. There was no need to give her more fuel to refuse him.

                She nodded, and then looked to the sky. “It is getting dark, Glorfindel. It is time, and past time, for you to go home. A servant will lead you out.”

                He took the dismissal for what it was and bowed, heart heavy, before turning to leave. “And Glorfindel? Court my son all you wish, but mark my words- he will only marry a lord.”

                He spun around, grin on his face, to thank her, but she’d already disappeared into a side door. The grin fell as her words sunk in. His father was regent, and he was the lord of the house, but, as regent, his father technically had control. Until such time as he was married, of course. As he met up with the brothers, he remembered something about the tourney. Anyone could compete, from the lowest of stable hands to prince Maeglin himself. And whoever won would, of course, be declared a lord. Hope once again filled him, and it was with much happiness that he informed both brothers that Gilyā hadn’t refused their courtship after all. Now, all he needed to do was win a tourney in a few months’ time. That wouldn’t be too difficult- unless, of course, lord Rog decided to enter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elleth- she-elf  
> Artanis- Glorfindel’s cousin, commonly known as Galadriel. Instead of staying home in Valinor, she took up the sword and fought with- and against- her friends and family. Very much unladylike, very awesome.  
> Gilyā- primitive Elvish, courtesy of Parf Edhellin, meaning Silver Spark.
> 
> So, who's all going to be in this tourney? Who will win? Stay tuned for the next chapter of Courting Mishaps! (Oh, and Glorfindel didn't do anything wrong this time, isn't it great?)
> 
> Edit: 12/1/15, corrected small grammar issues.


	6. The Lord has Cometh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel, tired of all the abuse, desperate and in love, challenges his father. And he finds something that horrifies him. The Fall has begun. The next chapter will be the Council of King Turgon.
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments! I'm sorry this chapter has been a long time coming, but hey- at least it's sooner than the once per month I thought it would have to be!
> 
> As always- I said there will be 2 or 3 chapters more 3 chapters ago. Oh, me, oh, my. Hey! I now have a gmail that you can contact me at if you'd just like to chat, or to give me prompts, request gifts, ect. It's LearnToShareFeanor@gmail.com. You can find it on my profile as well.
> 
> Edit: 12/1/15, corrected night to nigh- unfortunately, they're not interchangeable.

                It neared midnight by the time he arrived at his home. A few servants met him at the door, apologizing for the poor reception, but he dismissed their worries by stating that he hadn’t sent word ahead. Later that night, he lay in bed and worried. He knew he couldn’t allow his father to find out what the results of the tourney would be- besides, of course, becoming the princess’ champion. Lady Gilyā seemed to think it simple, but he had tried to take control of his own house before. He had been in the healing houses more often than he could count because of it. Of course, one elf might know the correct way to have a regent deposed. But how could he ask Erestor?

                Gilyā, his mind supplied. She wasn’t the natural lady of the house- Ecthelion told him she’d married into the family. Ecthelion had already been of age by the time their father died, so somehow she’d legitimately become the Lady of the Silver Fountain. Perhaps it would be the same way, only in reverse? The thought was discarded as soon as it came. What would she think of an elf lord who could not control his own family? And if he asked Erestor, would he speak to her about it?

                Eventually, mind running wild with half asked and half answered questions, he slipped into reverie.

                The next morning, his father had _words_ for him, as Glorfindel knew he might. Whilst Ninquaion railed at him, he noticed that they’d garnered an audience. A thought- reckless and rushed, to be sure- came upon him. What had he always succeeded at with his enemies and, sometimes, his friends?

                He feigned a loss of interest in his father’s side of the conversation, and then, when his father brought up being the lord of his house (quite predictably), he interrupted with, “Father, have you forgotten who the lord of this house is?” His father seemed stunned, and he pressed his advantage. “You are only regent until I reach my majority, and that was well nigh 50 years ago.”

                Eyes blazing, his father raised his hand. But Glorfindel was no longer in the mindset of a frightened child. Some said there were two, or even three, Glorfindels. The first, and the one his father had no doubt been expecting, was a little timid about challenging authority, but gregarious and outgoing in all other things. Another was (what he liked to call) Erestor’s Glorfindel. Oddly gentle despite his size, warm, some might even say soft- certainly only Erestor would get away unscathed with saying the last. Then there was the third, the Warrior, and it was he who faced his father. The Warrior was not soft, or gregarious, or gentle, or in any way timid. No. The Warrior was the only elf to take on Rog and _win_. The Warrior was distant, calm, and he was always careful to keep _this_ personality away from the others, lest they be tainted.

                His father raised his hand, but the Warrior was not afraid. He saw only a challenge- and that should have frightened Ninquaion. With an iron grip, he grasped that hand on the downswing, and knew without a doubt that this would cause bruises. He squeezed, tightly enough to hurt, but not so tight that bones would break. It was a dangerous game, but one he had played often enough on the training fields. He felt his father attempt to pull back his arm, but he held firm. He would wait- wait for the moment in which he realized that, unarmed, he had no chance against his son. Wait until he realized that, except for one or two messengers, his house would rather serve the lord who treated them as people over one who treated them as property.

                And then he saw it. Resignation and hate and rage all in one glance. He released the bruised, and likely sprained, wrist, making it clear that he was doing the releasing- not his father.

                “Oh, I remember”, his father hissed, and Glorfindel had never heard him so enraged, “and he had better watch his actions before the Fall.”

                Most likely, if he had said that at any other time, Glorfindel would have discounted the words ‘the Fall’. But right now, he was alert for any sudden movements or details. And, for some reason, it didn’t sound like his father was speaking about the season.

                “What do you mean?” Glorfindel demanded, stepping towards the other elf. He heard gasps in the background, and someone running, likely to get guards.

                Perhaps Ninquaion realized he’d said more than he intended to, for his face showed a brief flash of fear before settling on his nearly permanent sneer. He turned and walked down the hall, Glorfindel following, blue eyes burning like lightning and steps echoing like thunder.

                This was not the child, or even the Warrior. This was the Lord who slew the balrog.

                Running echoed behind him, and he slammed his shoulder into his father’s office door after hearing the lock click. SLAM! Hands tried to pull him away. SLAM! They were summarily ignored.  SLAM! The hinges gave, and he ended up running into his father, scattering papers before the fire. Suddenly, he remembered the maps from all those weeks ago. _The Fall_ , he thought in growing horror, _the Fall of Gondolin._ “Get those maps, papers, anything you can find, and take them to the king!” He commanded, roughly holding his fathers’ arms so that he could not reach them. “He is conspiring against all of us!”

                If he was wrong, he would certainly serve jail time, never be allowed to compete in the tourney, and never be allowed to marry Erestor. But if he was right- oh, he almost prayed he was wrong. 


	7. Fall? Or jump?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I actually got torinighthawk to beta this for me! Know what that means? Yep! Some of the mistakes I glance right over have been fixed. :-)  
> I hope you guys enjoy! It's a little cut off at the end as the beginning of the next chapter has a different sort of mood to it. Points to a Hogwarts house of your choice if you get the Gandalf reference from TTT.  
> Let me know what you think! Next update should be sometime in November or later this month.

 

                 All of Gondolin was, for once, silent. The king himself had searched throughout the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower’s quarters, and found evidence that not only had he been plotting the fall of their city, but so had his own nephew, Maeglin.

                Glorfindel sat outside the council room of the palace, where interrogations were being held. He had been through one earlier and declared innocent, but he did not envy the servants of his house, the castle, Maeglin, or his father. They were not kind, as attested by the large bruise welling up around the left side of his jaw. The door creaked open, and one of the senior councilors informed him that he could go- but not yet to his home, more searching had to be done.

                 _‘Where shall I go?’_ He wondered. He couldn’t very well traipse about Gondolin with the city still in turmoil and disarray. In a few minutes, he found himself outside of the House of the Silver Fountain. Not at the main doors, which would have required him to cross the great market square where nearly all of Gondolin had gathered to hear the news, but through the back gardens. He heard hammers, and curious, followed their sound to the doors which he’d seen the Lady of the house walk through so long ago- had it only been last night?

                He saw an interesting design, full of curves and strange baubles, and pressed it curiously. Immediately, chimes rang within the house, and the door opened after a few more hammer strikes. Slate grey eyes captured his. Still silent, she gestured him in, and for the first time, he saw her forge. Gilyā set back to work, beating a delicate curve into a strange heap of silver.

                “The boys are worried about you.” She intoned, not looking up from her work.

                “I’m sorry, didn’t mean to frighten them.” He felt distant, almost as if he was watching himself have the conversation from behind a pane of glass.

                She looked at him sharply. “What happened? Spare no details; you’ll have to tell Erestor anyway.”

                He swallowed. And he spoke, haltingly at first, but then his words ran together as the horror of the situation came upon him in full. His cheeks were oddly chilled, and he wondered if he’d been crying. He hoped not. A pair of warm arms wrapped about his frame, and he pressed his face into one shoulder gratefully, unsure if his legs would hold him.

                “Alright my boy, you’ll be alright,” she whispered into one pointing ear, rocking back and forth gently.

                “What am I to  _do_?” He demanded, fear and uncertainty gripping him. “My world has turned upside down.”

                “What do you do?” She asked, pushing him down into a chair, and then kneeling before him. “I lived through the betrayals of Morgoth, the hellish rumors of kinslayings, the grinding ice, the treachery of Feanor and his sons, and the death of my husband.” Gently, callused fingers rubbed circles on the back of his hands. “You do what I have done- accept that we cannot control what happens around us, only our reactions to it.”

                He wiped at his face, suddenly feeling very much like a child. “My reactions- and what should they be? All I know- I’ve been taught by a traitor.”

                “No,” She said, low and soft. “No, perhaps you learned your behavior at home from him, but he has taught you nothing else. Who taught you to fight?”

                “Lord Rog and I had the same teacher- his father.”

                “And was he a traitor?”

                He looked at her sharply. “He froze to death after giving the last of his food and clothing to children.” How dare she even  _suggest_ something like that?

                “So, the elf who taught you something you consider important was not a traitor. Who taught you how to act  _outside_  of your home?”

                He glanced down at their conjoined hands. “My mother. He betrayed her too.”

                “But she herself was not a traitor, was she?”

                “No.” He said, and was embarrassed by the soft crack in his voice.

                She nodded. “You’ve already named two, so your father is outnumbered, at least. Shall we continue with all the people who were  _not_ what you fear?”

                He shook his head, and she nodded hers. “Good. What should your reaction be? You are the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. You stand up, make yourself presentable, and antagonize my sons. You do what you are determined to do, no matter the difficulty." She pushed a lock of hair out of his face. "You continue to be who you are- we are elves, Glorfindel. The times may change, we may change, but the heart of us never does, as long as we do not allow ourselves to be broken."

               He took a deep breath, hoping that it was wisdom which guided her words, and not fear of what would surely come to pass. His eyes met steely grey ones once more and he realized that if ever an elf could deny terror, fading, and lead an entire house, that elf surely was she. Perhaps the thought of her husband marrying below his class by wedding a smith was incorrect. It seemed to him now that it was quite the opposite- the strong, wise smith, from a long line of smiths, having to deal with the son of a lord who, like him, probably didn't know the difference between a rasp and a file. 

               "Well, I did say that I want to marry Erestor." He cursed the sudden bout of bravery as soon as the words left him. This was  _not_ the right time. Then again, when had he ever said something important at the correct time? 

               To his relief, she simply laughed. "And I did say he would only marry a lord, yes? And are you not now lord of your house?" Her eyes danced merrily in amusement. "I have always loathed arranged marriages, and so you will have to ask him yourself." She stood, straightened her leather apron, and became the rather chilly Lady whom he was more familiar with. "And now-  _out of my smithy_!"

 

               She shooed him out forcefully, and he left laughing into the main hall. 


	8. Desperate times, desperate measures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by Torinighthawk. Thank you, as always! For those of you looking forward to updates, she's soon to be beta-reading chapter 9 of this and chapter 3 of Archers' Notes. Oh, and italics when inside 'of these' are thoughts.  
> I really hope you guys enjoy this! Let me know what you think in the comments, and don't worry, I don't own Lord of the Rings or the Silmarillion.  
> For a bit of background: Gilyā doesn’t allow anyone in her smithy without permission, but Erestor, the baby of the family, gets away with just popping in with no warning and even bringing books down there. I wouldn’t say that Ecthelion dislikes his mother or brother, more so that he’s just jealous of that closeness. Erestor’s very much like his mother, and Ecthelion’s more like his father.

                 Once he left the heat and dark of the smithy, his mood once again fell. How could he possibly ask Erestor to start something new like this, something important, when all that they knew and loved would soon be crashing down about their heads? He had good faith in the King to sort this out, but good faith was worth very little when one might soon be facing Morgoth’s hordes. He moved quietly throughout the halls, stopping occasionally to look at bright sketches and shining metal sculptures. Within a few minutes, he stood in the familiar entrance.

                There were no servants milling around busily- most were likely at one of the markets- and he felt as a ghost might. Silent, unheard, invisible. He slipped into the main study and library, thumbing spines of books as he went, and stepped into Erestor’s favorite alcove. He smiled, recognizing one of the books on the small bench as the book of children’s stories he had given Erestor for his begetting day several years ago. ‘ _Have I truly known him so long?’_  He wondered. Time, he decided, was difficult to judge. One moment, all was well in the world, and the next, chaos reined. Entire years could seem like the blink of an eye, and suddenly, seconds were as eons. He left the darkened library and headed upstairs.

                He stilled on the final step, looking about curiously. He’d been invited to the living quarters more than once, but something had always came up which stopped him from taking them up on it. He was saved from knocking on every door by a familiar voice. “Fin?”

                The last door on the left had opened, and a familiar head of dark hair and shining eyes leaned out curiously. “Erestor.” He responded, and suddenly found his arms full of upset elf. 

                His mouth curled into a frown. "You dolt, do you have any idea how worried we were? Where were you?" He punctuated each question with a slap to the blonde's shoulders, and Glorfindel huffed out a laugh. Were it any other, he would take the tone seriously and likely start an argument or fight. With Erestor, amusingly enough, anger tended to equal worry, and not actually anger. Unfortunately for him, he tended to laugh at said worry. 

             He yelped as the smaller elf pinched one of his ears and  _twisted_  viciously. "Erestor! Stop that!"

             "You're laughing, you idiot!"

             "Ow! Yes, I'm laughing, now stop!"

             "I'll show you funny, you great big-"

              Ecthelion cleared his throat from the hall. "Well, it sounds like you're finally out of your room."

              Glorfindel took the momentary distraction to carefully pry Erestor's fingers from his ears, and the younger elf offered him a sheepish grin. "You worried me." He stated simply, and Glorfindel risked another amused huff. 

               "I hadn't noticed."

                Erestor snorted and leaned up, lightly brushing his lips with his own. Ever a slave to temptation, the golden elf couldn't resist following him when he parted and turned the chaste kiss into something a little less...proper. 

                Ecthelion made a distressed noise and jerked the taller elf back. "Do I have to remind you two that you've only been courting for a few weeks? That is my little brother, now stop.  _Especially_ where I can see it." 

                Erestor laughed. "Oh, so does that mean I have your permission to drag him off somewhere?"

                Ecthelion dragged a hand through his hair. "No! Absolutely-"

                 "Of course!" Glorfindel interjected, amused by Ecthelion's reaction. "You can drag me off any time."

                 Ecthelion spun around to face his younger brother. "Don't you dare even think about it." His attempt to save his younger brother's virtue was greeted with an amused eye-roll. "Does anyone in this family take me seriously?" He asked the ceiling, hoping desperately that the roof, at least, did so.

               The youngest of the three simply laughed and pressed himself up to the eldest. "Oh come now brother, you  _know_ no one takes you seriously."

                The elder gave his brother a look- one that generally meant all of his favorite books would be hidden before nightfall, and any clothing he wasn't wearing at the time might disappear as well. 

                 Wounding his dignity further, Erestor broke into barely stifled laughter and buried his face into Glorfindel's chest. The blue-eyed elf buried his nose in the dark mane, enjoying the smells he associated with Erestor- fresh parchment, burning coal, and garden herbs. Somehow, breathing seemed easier here, and he wrapped his arms around the small frame. His embrace was returned, and warm hands traveled up and down his spine.

               Ecthelion glanced away, and felt oddly like an intruder in his own home. "So, what exactly happened? We heard that there was panic and disorder in the House of the Golden Flower, but none were allowed inside, and the guards refused to tell us where you were."

               Erestor turned his head and glanced up from his rather comfortable place, watching his brother oddly. His tone was more subdued than usual, and he was staring at -or, rather, through- one of the many house plants instead of them. He released Glorfindel's waist but was only clung to tighter, and he thought, briefly, of a little elfling clinging to a toy. He returned the embrace once more but watched his brother carefully. Quiet contemplation, awkwardness in a crowd of more than a few people, a distant demeanor in public- they were all what he, Erestor, did, but Ecthelion very rarely did anything that wasn't brash and outgoing.

                 "You'll likely both know within the next few days anyway, but it's right that you hear it from me." Glorfindel took a deep breath to steady himself. "Forgive me for not answering questions- if I don't say it all now, I might- I might not finish it."

                  Erestor's hands began moving again, carving warm circles, but the comfort was lost on him. "My father- and Maeglin, though Maeglin is no surprise- have maps. Maps of the countryside around Gondolin, of the streets and sewers, and of the secret entrances- all but the one which has never been mapped."

                  Two sets of grey eyes bore into him, and he swallowed before continuing. "There was also correspondence. With an entity outside Gondolin. Our enemies know where we are now. The King is trying to find out how far it has gotten, and- but it has already gone too far. We may be preparing for war soon."

                  He finally gained the courage to look up, and Ecthelion's hands were clenched into fists, jaw tight, eyes wide. "Then we'll just have to be ready, won't we?" His voice held none of the rage shown in his form, though, only fear.

‘ _How could this ever be survived?_ ’

                  "I spoke with the princess while I was in the palace. She took a risk, but- there is one more entrance, one not shown on any map in all of Gondolin. She and some trusted friends dug it out. They would have to leave no more than four elves abreast, but it's a hidden escape."

                  "Escape. As safe as we've been here for so long, escape may be our best chance at survival." Erestor's voice was soft as well, but more in distraction than in fear. There was much to be done before escape would become a truly viable option. Ways to move an entire city quietly- without giving any warning to any citizens before the day of reckoning- would need to be planned. Enough cattle- though he supposed dried jerky might be a better choice- bread, and warm clothes for over one thousand terrified elves would need to be gathered as well. And what of weapons? There were enough for the warriors, but not for those of other classes, such as scribes like himself. Miners might have pickaxes, farmers had scythes, but would that be enough to fend off an orc spear? 

                 "Is there any way you could get me in a private audience with her? We need to figure out the logistics if we're going to get all of Gondolin out quickly and quietly."

                 "No." Ecthelion stated, and it was most definitely  _not_ the familiar, joking refusal he regularly used.

                 He turned from Glorfindel's arms to face his brother. "What do you mean, no? If it is a private audience, none would know except you, Glorfindel, and I. And the princess, of course."

                "Are you mad, Erestor? The walls will keep us safe."  
                "Have you ever seen a pig-pen, Thel? The walls keep them safe, yes, but when the farmer comes for pork, walls do not stop him."

                "Even if the walls fall, it is much too dangerous for you. What if someone else does find out, and you are followed?" The desperation in his brother’s voice was obvious, and Erestor made an attempt to curb his temper before answering.

                "Thel, if the walls fall, I will be more worried about orcs and trolls than other elves." He decided to play dirty, and asked, almost offhandedly, "How many children, do you think, are here?"

                 His brother's eyes met his, and he saw the desired effect. "Children cannot fight, brother, and what of those who know little of war? If we do not at least have an idea of what we shall need, they will be doomed. Can you not see that?"

                Before Ecthelion could respond, Glorfindel interrupted somberly, "Remember Glaurung? He has them, reportedly, that can fly."

                The message was clear- dragons would find Gondolin's elves as fish in a barrel. Ecthelion swallowed. "Fine! But do not expect me to like it in any way." He turned and bolted down the stairs, and they heard multiple doors slam.

                 Erestor shook his head and Glorfindel's worried look. "Mother will talk sense into him. She always does."

                 The blonde sighed and rested his chin on the dark-haired elf's head. "She is a very sensible elleth." Silence reigned for a moment before Glorfindel spoke once more. "I will have to return to the palace before nightfall. I'll try and get you that meeting with the princess."

                  "Thank you," Erestor breathed. "I hope that my brother is correct, and the walls will protect us. But I also fear that he's wrong."

                  One hand rose and played with a dark braid on the back of his head. "As do I, Res, as do I." They were silent once more, but it was not an awkward one.

                  "Do you know how I always pick the worst time for everything?" Glorfindel asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

                  Erestor chuckled. "Oh, trust me, I do. I take it there's to be another celebration soon?" He asked sarcastically, referring to their failed midsummer's eve. The blonde winced.

                  "Well, hopefully, and I'm hoping as well that it won't go anywhere near as bad as  _that_ did."

                   He smiled. "It was not so bad towards the end."

                   "No. No it wasn't."

                   They were silent once more. "Erestor?"

                    "Mm-hmm?"

                    "Will you marry me?"

                   He felt the dark-haired elf tense against him. "Let me get this straight. We've been together romantically for less than two weeks. Your entire house is practically a war zone. And Gondolin is heading for what could possibly be the largest Noldo battle since Fëanor died."

                   The blonde hid a smile. "Yes, that is all correct."

                   "And now you're asking me to marry you."

                   It was not phrased as a question, but the blonde felt it required an answer. "Yes, melme."

                    The being in his arms began to shake and his good humor fled. Oh, what had he done wrong this time? He was relieved when Erestor began laughing. "Oh, Glorfindel. You really  _do_ pick the worst times."

                    He flushed in embarrassment when Erestor bodily pushed himself away, shaking his head. "Ah," he sighed, "I suppose I should go tell mother."

                   The blonde blinked in confusion. "What?"

                    Erestor hummed distractedly. "Well, she does need to know that I'm getting married, don't you think? I don't think she'd forgive us for 'forgetting' to tell her, like the courting incident." At the absolutely stupefied look on his face, Erestor began laughing again and ran down the stairs. "Are you coming or not?"


	9. The Stones of my Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry it's been so long for an update on Archer's Notes. I promise, torinighthawk is beta-ing it now. But I do have a new chapter of Courting Mishaps! It hasn't been beta'd yet, so I'll probably do what I've been doing with the last few chapters and going back to correct any grammatical issues that my brain just completely skipped over. Oh, and just FYI, I couldn't find a good place to end this chapter until it was around 7 pages in, so this one is a little long. Fair warning, it's also a little dialog heavy. In this, I explain the reason why their mother never speaks about her husband, and why she shows few signs of really mourning. 
> 
> So you may have noticed that new tags have been added- specifically one about bride-prices. This isn't a practice that I approve of in any way, shape, or form, but it really fits Gilyā and the time period she was raised in, very well. The tradition of bride-prices came from our own human history, but the circlets were something that I made up. Let me know what you think about it!

"speaking"

' _thinking'_

* * *

 

                He paced angrily throughout the halls of his home. ‘ _How dare he?’_  He thought, enraged. ‘ _How dare he so much as_ think  _of allowing my brother into such danger?’_  Ecthelion resumed his pacing, and turned to leave. His hands lingered upon the main doors to his home. Did he really wish to leave? All of Gondolin would be asking questions, terrible questions which he knew now had even more horrific answers. ‘ _How can I look upon them and say- Gondolin will fall?’_

He stared down at his hands upon the knobs and realized with disgust that they were shaking. He released them and turned. At the sound of laughter, his eyes were drawn to the large staircase. Glorfindel and his brother. If he had not set it up himself, he would not believe that they were involved. He’d never thought, when he introduced the two of them, that they would ever become friends. And he had been dumbfounded when Glorfindel had asked his permission to take his brother to the celebration. The midsummer celebration was one of the largest, anyone who was anyone would be there- even the lowest of classes put down their tools and headed to halls and dance floors. All of Gondolin would know that they were involved. Surprised, he had responded ‘yes’ purely out of habit.

                And then, even after the confusion and discord of Midsummer’s Eve, his oldest friend had asked his permission to court his younger brother. He had thought that, by refusing, Erestor would become only more determined to have the blonde. If he allowed them their farce, however, his little brother would realize that Glorfindel was  _not_ the elf for him after all. Now it was quite the opposite. Erestor had surprised him as well- trading insecurity for a spine of steel. Belatedly, he realized it had always been there, only hidden in all matters personal and romantic.

                He heard another peal of laughter from above and headed deeper into the house, unknowingly re-tracing Glorfindel’s path. He ended up standing, staring at the door of his mother’s smithy, unable or unwilling to knock, he wasn’t sure. It was not as if he’d ever had much to say to his mother anyway. She and Erestor were birds of a feather, and he was sure that, like his mother, if he married Glorfindel, all of Gondolin would forget his existence except when he turned out on feast days draped upon his husband’s arm. And just as his mother did, Erestor would probably be glad of the lack of attention.

                He heard grumbling from inside the door and small things shifting. ‘ _She’s making a necklace.’_ He thought absentmindedly. ‘ _Or a hairclip.’_ She kept jeweled studs in small drawers just for those purposes and he smiled. Every great once in a while, he would break into her forge and organize them, sometimes by color, sometimes by shape- but no matter how he did it, they’d still end up in disorganized piles, and his mother would be forever searching for them.

                He leaned upon the wall, finding an odd sort of comfort from the sounds within. There were no surprises for him here. There, the noise she made when she found the one she wanted to use, movement, fingers scrabbling through both heavy and lightweight tools to find just the perfect one. Inevitably, the door opened- somehow, through some strange magic, she always knew when he or Erestor were in trouble or were skulking outside of her door. He wondered faintly if this qualified as both.

                “Coming in? I swear I shall never find those garnets. They were in the third drawer- now they are nowhere!”

                He fought the urge to laugh when he caught site of one of her workbenches. A fortune to make a dwarf die in bliss lay scattered upon the table. Garnets, rubies of all sizes, emeralds, jade, opals. A sudden question rubbed at him, one he always seemed to forget to ask. “Mother?”

                She hummed at him distractedly, and pulled out a red stone in triumph. Now she worked again to find the match.

                “Mother, why do you use opals for me and topaz for Erestor? I understand the opals, but topaz is very-“ He stopped there, unsure of how to say ‘dwarvish’ without insulting his mother’s work.

                She looked at him curiously. “You’ve never asked me that one before.”

                He shrugged, moving closer to the workbench, and he began distractedly sorting gems by color. He felt her eyes upon him and tried desperately to ignore them, seeking instead the familiarity that fixing her disorganization often brought.

                “Opals,” she began, “were rare in Valinor, so they were prized above all. I did not want to marry your father, and so when I was forced to name my bride-price, I told him I must have my weight in opals.”

                 _‘Bride price?’_ He’d known his parents were never in love, and the concept of entering a contract and buying a wife was nothing strange, but knowing and hearing it confirmed were two very different things. “I take it he delivered?”

                She shook her head. “Five hundred stones he gave to me, traded and bartered from the smiths, and he was off by just a few ounces. The last stone he gave me was a polished cat carved of moonstone. Said that he could not find the last, but that he had worked long and hard upon the final gift. He told me that more than silver or mithril, my eyes reminded him of moonstone in the ocean waves at night.”

                “Well that’s painfully romantic.” He said dryly.

                She chuckled. “Yes, your father always was. And so the rarest stone, the only thing I thought would keep me from marriage, is  _your_ stone. Opals,” she said softly, fingers lingering on one of the pale stones, “are my reminders that sometimes, the very best and most beautiful things can come from what we believe are the worst.”

                He swallowed. “Father- you never told me that he….”

                “That he bought me? Feanor had created the Silmarils, Valinor was becoming a dangerous place. He had cared for me for a long time, never daring to enter the dark of the forges and speak with me or with Aule’s folk. An alliance between the smiths and the nobles was wanted. One was had.”

                “Did you ever love him?” He asked softly.

                She looked at him, long and hard, and eventually he dropped his gaze. “Yes- and no. I learned to love him, but I never had the opportunity to fall in love as so many do. And even now, though I miss him, it is the way I miss the hound we had in Valinor. A beloved pet, yes, but not someone I truly loved. Now you and your brother? I have only to think about the possibility of losing you and I go half mad.”

                He stared at her booted feet until she entwined her fingers with his. “I use opals for you because you are the most precious thing. I could have another child, another youngest son, but I can never have another one of you.”

                “But what of Erestor? Are you saying that he could- be  _replaced_?” Disbelief colored his tone, disbelief at her callousness, at her lack of consideration.

                Her lips curled downwards in a frown. “Just because I can have another son does not mean I could replace  _either_ of you. Yes, the new child would be my youngest, but Erestor would still be my second-born and the last of your father’s.”

                They waited a moment in silence before he mumbled an apology for his crass words.

                She nodded. “Now, do you want to know why I use topaz for your brother, or did you just want to know why I give you opals?”

                He released her hands and tugged a barrel of coal over, turned the lid to keep it closed and sat down. “I find I have many questions, mother, and I need many answers.”

                She turned and banked the fire down, carefully moving the metal which had been smelting to the side. She pulled the low chair she used when doing detail work to her table and sat down. “Ask, my son, and I shall tell you.”

                He nodded, but now that she sat in front of him, he found that he was unable to phrase the questions bouncing around in his head.

                “Topaz.” She said simply, bringing his attention back to her. “Opals are my favorite, but topaz- mainly the blue kind- is the stone of my house. There were laws in Valinor, with the smith classes. One was allowed to work with only the stones of their house, and with stones unclaimed by any house. So I could work with opals, and onyx, and topaz, and granite. Like many smiths, I felt a connection with the stone of my house, a special one. When I looked upon you for the first time, Ecthelion, I knew you would be a lord.” She took a breath, glancing away, mind taken to the past. “You looked like me- you both do- my dark hair, my eyes. But there was something in your eyes.”

                She was silent until he lightly tapped the chair with his foot. She shook her head to clear it. “Forgive me. You were not a smith afraid of duty, but you would be a great Lord, brave in the face of all odds. You would rise in the face of danger, and though you would be pale and beautiful, like an opal, you would be hard to break.”

                “Your brother, though, is topaz. Topaz is hard and clear, and you can _see_ it’s hard, long before you touch it. It is sharp lines and hard edges, and while anyone can love an opal, it takes something special to care for a topaz. To smooth down the edges- not too soft and round, but not sharp enough to cut as it naturally is.”

                He looked at her curiously. “But he- the sharpest thing about him is his mind, shortly followed by his wit. He isn’t  _dangerous_ , not in any way.”

                “Ah! But there you are wrong.” She said with a curious smile dancing upon her lips. “A sword is deadly when wielded by the correct warrior. But one who outsmarts armies, who is intelligent enough to have them fight for him, wise enough to know when to fight, and clear and beautiful enough to have them fight for him to the death for his will- that is true danger. That is Morgoth, that is Feanor, that is Celebrimbor and Turgon. And your brother.”

                “Do you think it wise, then?” He asked. “Wise to allow the warrior and the- the clever one?”

                She hummed. “So  _that_ is what all of this is about. Yes, because Glorfindel needs to be controlled, and Erestor needs to control someone- it is their way. They would come together, in love, or in simply a war, just by their natures. There is no way to fight it. But no, as well, for love is a very foolish thing.”

                He stood up and began to pace once more. “But mother, Erestor intends to do something dangerous.”

                “What?” She asked sharply.

                “He wishes to visit the princess, to get the people of Gondolin to safety, without any concern for his own.” A sensation of relief washed over him as he realized she was just as worried as he was about this new information.

                “And what does Glorfindel think of this?”

                He huffed in irritation. “Ah, and you assume that the lout  _thinks_. The only think he thinks of nowadays  _is_  Erestor.”

                A firm hand grabbed his arm and pulled him down to his seat once more. “Then that is a good thing. If all he thinks about is Erestor, all he will be focused upon is how to keep Erestor safe.” She did not bother to chastise him about the cruel name for his friend. They had fought before, and in her experience, her eldest would be punishing himself far worse than she ever could once he’d calmed down.

                “Wait- mother, you approve of this?” He asked in shock and disbelief.

                She nodded. “Your brother has a good head on his shoulders, and Idril does not. Perhaps that has changed since marrying and having a child, or perhaps she has simply been playing the fool all along, but the idea of her and her alone planning this does not give me any hope or security.”

                “And Erestor does?” He returned acidly. 

                “And I do what?” The elf in question asked. He had just opened the door, and now he regretted doing so. Things seemed tense inside the room.

                Gilyā was the one who spoke. “I prefer that you help Idril in this instead of her doing it upon her own.”

                Erestor sighed in relief. “Well, I suppose I don’t have to ask you about it now, then.”

                She shook her head as Ecthelion’s jaws clenched and unclenched along with his fists. “You should be careful with this- we do not know how many were involved with Maeglin and Glorfindel’s father.” She looked to the blonde. “Do we?”

                Glorfindel frowned. “No. I wish we did, but apart from a messenger, we have no idea. The King seems to think it was only the two of them and a few servants, though.”

                She snorted indelicately. “Of course he would tell you that- he had no idea whom you would come to.” She glanced at her oldest son once more. “Perhaps, you could come back at another time? I was having a private conversation with your brother.”

                Erestor brushed a braid behind a pointed ear and nodded. “Thel, are you okay?”

                The word “fine” came out in a way that suggested he was anything  _but_ fine.

                “Do you think we should tell them now, or-“ Glorfindel left it off, unsure. It was never good to surprise Ecthelion in any way when he was angry, and Ecthelion looked very angry indeed.

                Erestor turned and began to push him back into the hall. “Later, I think, let him calm down.”

                “Tell me what?” Ecthelion asked roughly.

                “I take it you asked him?” Gilyā probed, glancing at Glorfindel, who promptly flushed with delight.

                “Yes, and he said-“  
                “Yes, of course you did, my son. I will handle this, go.”

                Erestor gave them another unsure look before closing the door.

                Ecthelion buried his head in his hands and sighed raggedly. “What did they do now?”

                His mother did not immediately respond, instead pulling off her gloves and tending to a few wayward curls. “Your braids are slipping. You should start using the hair-ties I gave you more often.”

                “Would you just tell me what they  _did_?” He growled impatiently.

                She frowned darkly and brought her hand down with an audible  _smack_  against his shoulder, making him yelp. “Watch your tone with me, Ecthelion!" She snapped, and then continued in a more gentle voice, "I will tell you when you have calmed down and not a moment before.”

                Grudgingly, he nodded, realizing that even if the news was good, he would likely react in anger. He looked at her workbench, seeking something to distract himself. “Who are the garnets for?” He asked finally.

                His mother resumed undoing his braids, smoothing her fingers through the slightly wavy locks. “I have decided- the last time I made you boys circlets was when we finally crossed into Gondolin. They are too small to fit you now, so I am making new ones.”

                She reached into a drawer and brought out a large silver piece made of flowing curves reminiscent of waves and studded with opals. “It needs to be polished again, and I haven’t decided yet what design to use for the lower arches, but when it is finished, this will be yours.”

                He took it from her gently, running his fingers over the smooth stones and cool metal. “It is beautiful already.” He stated softly, knowing that his words would be ignored. She would work on it until it was perfect in her eyes.

                Gingerly, she took the circlet from him and placed it on his head. “A bit too tight- maybe an extra bit added to the back would make it better.”

                He closed his eyes as she returned it to the drawer and began combing through his hair in earnest, re-making his braids. “What will Erestor’s look like?” He asked distractedly.

                He felt her pin back a set and begin again with the strands next to his ears. “His will not be silver.” She stated simply.

                He frowned. “But you always work with silver.”

                She did not acknowledge his statement until his hair was completely finished. “Are you calm now, my little blizzard?”

                He snickered and reached back to tug on one of her braids. “Yes- and you could stand to take your own advice about the braids.”

                “Ah, I might have you do them for me later. I think I may go out today, running low on some of the metals I need.”

                “Coal, too.” He added, realizing the barrel he was perched on was the only barrel of coal in the room.

                “Yes, I suppose I’ll need to make a list.”

                There was another moment of silence before he asked, “So what does the news that you will not tell me of until I have calmed down and Erestor’s non silver circlet have to do with one another?”

                “There is a tradition in my family. A very expensive tradition, so I have only enough mithril to make one for you and one for your brother.”

                 He glanced at her sharply. “Mithril is expensive! What is this tradition?”

                 She sighed softly and brought out Erestor’s circlet. A large circlet of mithril lay in her hands, and suddenly, he felt he knew what the garnets were for. The waves of their house stood upon the upper arch, proud and with shining topaz stones upon them and dangling in between the upper and lower arches. Flowers of mithril studded with garnets at the centers made up the lower. “We are given a circlet made by our mothers before our wedding, of mithril. Sometimes it is silver with studs of the blessed metal, sometimes gold- rarely solid mithril as yours and Erestor’s will be. If you ever marry and have a child, I will make yours, and you shall pass mine to your firstborn. Erestor shall never have children, so I will not worry about a second for him.”

                 He stared at it and swallowed. “So the news-“ He began, and had to swallow again, for his throat was suddenly dry, “The news is that they are getting married. And the garnets are for the one you make for Glorfindel.”

                 “Yes. His is of gold, and will have garnets and topaz intertwined. His is almost finished as well, I have only to adjust it for the size.”

                 His response was cut off by his throat which seemed to have constricted to half its’ original size. “Hush, my son. I know- it is far too soon. But they are both willing, and I would have them marry when they are free to choose rather than wait until someone in Gondolin needs a peace treaty.”

                 The words unsaid echoed in his head. ‘ _They shall have what_ your  _father refused me. They will marry for love, not be bought like a slave.’_  “I know,” she repeated, placing a kiss upon his brow. “You are worried, for all the right reasons, and I am worried too. But for once, Glorfindel recognizes something that your brother does not. We are out of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, and before I forget- when Gilyā says that Erestor will never have kids, she's thinking of a purely biological manner. I'm playing to the time period with this one as well- sometimes people fostered young people or orphans during the Silmarillion, but it didn't usually turn out too well. She's not considering the possibility of adoption because she's already so worried about everything that's happening. 
> 
> And on the subject of Erestor's and Ecthelion's father- she has hinted at the possibility of the two of them eventually falling in love, if he had chosen to court her instead of buy her. She's a proud woman and could never forgive that sort of disregard. It's also a big part of why she wants them to marry now instead of when they're really ready. If they marry now, it's because they're in love, and they honestly want to. She's terrified of the thought that Erestor (or Thel, for that matter), might have to go through the horrors of a loveless marriage.


	10. Normality in Discord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Do you know, this was intended to begin as a romantic comedy, and end as one? It was also supposed to be about 3, maybe 4 chapters long. Then suddenly: a wild PLOT appears! PLOT uses MUSE- it’s super effective! Glorfindel is used to being kept away from any and all paperwork, so he's having the 'procrastination' problem. (Procrastination is a problem? I'll get it checked on later).  
> Sorry, guys, I couldn't get this beta-read in time. Please let me know what you think in the reviews below, and if you see any mistakes/have any constructive criticism, please tell me in the comments!  
> Ithil- elvish word for the moon.  
> Ninquaion- son of the cold- Quenya  
> Toron-brother  
> Elleth- female elf  
> Melmë- love

                Glorfindel looked at the piles and piles of papers which had been returned to his home with a great sense of dismay. His father had been arrested, along with Maeglin, but most of Gondolin was unaware of this. The King had spoken of his plan, and he had judged it sound, to say that the Lord of the Golden Flower and the Prince were closeted within the palace for several important council sessions, and would be unavailable until further notice. He had been confused until Prince Tuor, who had been in the throne room as well, explained it. “If people know that Gondolin has been betrayed, there shall be no end to their panic. If they think we are simply planning something, like the usual large celebrations that come out of nobles being in council for long periods of time, though, they will not be so worried.”

                Unfortunately, that meant Glorfindel was expected to handle all the formal duties associated with the running of his house. Ninquaion had kept him out of all the paperwork and such, and he had previously assumed it was because he was better at handling people than his father. Now, he knew, there had been a darker purpose. Normally, he would have several advisors and councilors, as his father did, and so could have assistance in these new, confusing, diplomatic affairs. However, as they saw all of his father’s papers, none of them could be trusted and were ‘assisting’ his father in his council.

                A knock came to his father’s study door- he still had not begun to think of it as  _his-_  and he called for the guest to enter. One of the King’s messengers, who had replaced his father’s, opened the door. “My Lord Glorfindel, my King wishes to formally invite you to the tourney to be held at the next turning of ithil.”

                He smiled. “Thank you, I would enjoy participating.” Then his face fell as he looked once more at the mountain of papers. “Unfortunately, I’ve not an idea of where to start on this.”

                The messenger nodded. “I will inform him- perhaps you might find the time.” He bowed politely, and suddenly Glorfindel had an idea.

                “Would you mind taking a message to one of the Lords of the Silver Fountain for me?” With his mother a recluse and his brother a warrior like himself, unused to any sort of official work, he knew that Erestor generally handled this kind of thing. Even if he refused to assist (and Glorfindel could not blame him), he might have an advisor or two hidden that could be spared.

                “Of course, my Lord. And congratulations on the betrothal.” The words were not said with any sort of emotion in them, and he had no doubt that they were said out of politeness’ sake rather than any true care, but he smiled anyway.

                “Thank you.” He jotted down a quick note, begging and pleading for any assistance against the paper monstrosity that confronted him, and sent it with the messenger.

                Erestor was handling complaints from those who lived in the land of the House of the Silver Fountain, and so it was Ecthelion who received the notice. And promptly laughed himself almost silly. His brother tended to hold these things on the balcony of the second floor, where he and the guests could enjoy the gardens and their namesake, the fountains. Generally, it was Erestor who enjoyed them whilst pretending to listen to some of the most inane complaints that Ecthelion had ever heard. Today, as he entered the room, it was one farmer wanting recompense because his neighbor’s goats had escaped and eaten his prized cabbages.

                Erestor gestured for silence between the arguing farmers, and Ecthelion observed that his brother was quite different during these little sessions and in council meetings than he was during his everyday life. His robes were a dark blue, made of velvet, with stylized waves upon the hems and sleeves in a lighter shade. He wore his every day, plain silver circlet with only a single stone in the center, and plain black slippers. Not for the first time, Ecthelion decided that he did  _not_ envy his brother the added respect that being the ‘Lord of the House’ entailed. There was too much work added to it.

                “Lord Ecthelion, how can I help you?” And then there was  _that_ piece of annoyance. He couldn’t just call him ‘Thel’ or ‘toron’, or ‘idiot’. He had to call him lord, and similarly, he was forced to return the greeting.

                “Lord Erestor, you have a message from your betrothed. Might I borrow you for just a moment?”

                The younger elf bowed his head politely in acquiescence. “Of course. We are almost finished here, if you could wait just a moment.”

                He took the obvious dismissal with grace, and closed the door behind him, shaking his head. He did  _not_ look forward to taking over those duties, though as first born, they should have been his in the first place. After a few moments, the farmers exited, bowing clumsily, one overjoyed, one obviously disappointed. His brother entered the room, calm and aloof, and the moment the door shut behind the exiting elves and a servant led them out of the house, he opened the first two buttons on his collar. “I think, Thel, that I shall die if I hear about one more missing cabbage today! Six farmers, two cooks, and a tailor- and the tailor was the only one without a cabbage issue.”

                The elder brother snorted in amusement. “Poor, poor Erestor. You won’t be able to eat cabbage for a week, will you?” He teased.

                Erestor treated him to an unamused glare. “Ecthelion, Lord of Silver Fountains, I swear to you that you will find all of your braids stuck together with tree sap tomorrow if you bring up those evil things.”

                Ecthelion winced, remembering the last time his brother had put tree sap in his hair, even while he laughed. “Oh, Res, you will give Glorfindel hell, won’t you?” It had been around three weeks since the impromptu proposal, and he had gotten over the shock of it. He was still uncomfortable with the idea of his little brother marrying at only eighty-three- his begetting day was not until early in the year- but after speaking with his mother more, he was more concerned about the idea of a marital contract. Something which had previously seemed normal, though unfortunate, had become a sliver of hate which turned his stomach and drug icy claws up his spine. The eldest son now had to wonder- if he ever sailed, how would he react to seeing his father again? ‘ _Joy? Or shall it be the loathing I felt when mother told me how it felt to be a little girl, dragged from her home and into a marriage bed against her will?’_

                “Thel?” A concerned voice cut through his dark thoughts and he shook his head.

                “Sorry, toron, lost in my thoughts again. What were you saying?”

                Erestor was still looking at him with obvious concern, but asked, “I was saying that I probably will and asking you what he sent me.”

                He handed over the slip of paper, studiously ignoring the way his brother was watching him. He did not look to him again until he heard Erestor snicker. “Apparently, I am needed to slay a terrible monster made of ink and paper.”

                “Oh? Doesn’t he have advisors for that?” Ecthelion asked, and Erestor raised an eyebrow.

                “So you  _did_  read the note before you gave it to me.” He accused, and Ecthelion grinned sheepishly.

                “In my defense, the messenger said that Fin wanted it to go to either of us.”

                That earned him a light poke in the side and an eye roll. “I see. Well, his advisors and councilors have been-“ He hurriedly cut off, realizing that any number of servants might be listening from outside the room. “Have been required to attend the council with his father.” He amended, quickly, and Ecthelion nodded.

                “Such an annoying thing, this council. So, I suppose you’ll be disappearing over there for the entire day?”

                Erestor huffed. “No.” He replied sulkily. “I still have to draft a letter to Lord Galdor to make a deal for a large supply of wood.” The younger elf did not specify what the wood was for, as Ecthelion already knew the probable reasons. For bows, arrows, spear shafts, or shields.

                “Fair enough. I’ll make you a deal- I’ll handle Galdor,” Galdor was a close friend of his, and so was more likely to handle his request quickly and quietly than a request coming from Erestor, “if you talk lord Rog out of assaulting the castle.”

                “What?” Erestor cried. “Is he  _mad_? What am I saying, of course he is mad.”

                “Less insane, more enraged. Rumor has it that the King had to have no less than four guards pull him off of the prince.”

                Erestor cocked his head to the side. “But Rog likes Tuor, and I swear he thinks Eärendil cannot walk by the way he always tries to carry the boy around.”

                “Oh, no, he does love them both. I’m referring to Maeglin.” He spat out the name as if it left a bitter taste upon his tongue.

                “Maeglin is hardly a prince at all. And I will try to talk to Lord Rog about this, but I cannot guarantee anything. You know how he is.”

                Ecthelion answered with a shrug. “I cannot ask anything more. I’ll see you for dinner tonight?”

                Erestor nodded. “Yes, I’ll come home.” He slipped out of the hall and traded his formal outer robe for one more suitable to go outside in. Then, he changed again, wondering if he should wear something besides blue. He had a green one, and immediately rejected it. ‘ _No wonder,_ ’ he thought as he picked another one, ‘ _I no longer wear it. ‘Tis hideous in the extreme.’_  Eventually, he could no longer stall, and chose a simple, pale blue robe, which was a favorite more for comfort than for the color.

                As he left, he debated how to speak with Rog- lord Rog was a blacksmith like his family, and as his date to the previous Midsummer’s Eve festival, he could not be seen at his home, and could not allow it to be obvious that he was seeking him out. ‘ _Still’_  he thought as he entered the larger market, ‘ _some gossip might take their minds off of wondering about the council.’_  He disregarded it as soon as it entered his head. There was no need to bring any doubt to his and Glorfindel’s betrothal when all of Gondolin was already suspicious. Were he an elleth, they would probably be asking, none too subtly, when the babe was due.

                Finally, he settled on handling the most important part of his day, Glorfindel, first. He could always go on a sudden visit to the house of the Hammer of Wrath with his betrothed, and that would surely raise fewer eyebrows.

                Once he arrived at the House of the Golden Flower, he knocked upon the doors and had to wait longer than usual to be announced. ‘ _I never realized,_ ’ he thought to himself, ‘ _how many servants were in this house to handle absolutely everything._ ’ His own home was more self-sufficient, but the House of the Silver Fountain had only two lords and a lady. Until Glorfindel’s aunt faded and his six cousins married into other houses, there had been seven ladies and two lords. At that time, Lord Ninquaion’s reticence was largely ignored as desperation for quiet time in a bustling house. 

            Almost as soon as he was announced, he was greeted by a cheerful, if slightly worn-out, elf-lord. “Erestor! And here I had thought I’d only be graced with the company of one of your accountants.”

            “Well,” he responded, smiling at the taller elf, “I suppose I could go home and send an accountant and a few scribes in my place.”

            Despite the smile, Glorfindel seemed to take his words seriously, and he was quickly enveloped by strong arms. “Oh, certainly not! Do you think that I will let you go when you only just  _got_ here?”

            Erestor laughed at him and returned the embrace. “I hope not.” He returned simply, and allowed himself to be pulled closer, Glorfindel placing chaste kisses- which were slowly turning quite the opposite- on his lips. He eagerly encouraged them, even tangling his fingers in the golden locks, before realizing that they were in full view of anyone who cared to see.

            “Fin-“ He began, and was cut off by another kiss. “Melmë, if we don’t stop, we shall never have those papers finished.” He warned, only halfway serious.

            Glorfindel whined, and he shivered at the sound. He opened his mouth to speak, and the blonde interrupted him. “Yes, yes, papers.” Though he had agreed, his arms remained firmly around the dark-haired elf’s waist.

            Erestor cleared his throat and decided that he was happy indeed that Ecthelion had decided not to accompany him. They would have been pulled apart long before now. “Perhaps we can wait on those?” Glorfindel suggested, and Erestor laughed.

            “Fin, if we don’t do them now, we’ll never get to them, and then my brother will start asking what I was doing all day.” Although the idea of lounging somewhere private with his soon-to-be mate doing nothing but things they  _shouldn’t_ be doing appealed to him greatly, the idea of explaining it to his brother was- well, not so appealing.

            Glorfindel winced and seemed to think the better of the situation, finally releasing him to grab ahold of his hand. “Of all the things I want to do, telling your brother exactly what I have planned for you is not among them.” He tugged the younger elf to the stairs, and Erestor laughed again.

            “Oh, so you have been planning, have you?” He teased, and enjoyed the bright flush that spread across his face and to his ears.

            He grumbled good-naturedly and led them to a room towards the middle of the hall. Purely out of habit, he knocked on the door, and then shook his head. His father was no longer here, he had no need to announce himself. Erestor’s eyes softened and he brushed his hand up and down a tense spine.

            “Are you well?” He asked softly. “We can always do this another time. They won’t likely be going anywhere.”

            Glorfindel swallowed, staring at the door as if seeing something else, and Erestor privately wondered where his thoughts had taken him. Without a word, he turned the handle and pushed open the door, entering the study. He didn’t make any gestures or speak, but Erestor followed him anyway. ‘ _I would follow you anywhere,’_  he thought, and somehow the thought did not scare him as much as it had months ago.

            Taking Glorfindel’s silence as a cue, Erestor quietly began to sort through the piles of paper on Ninquaion’s desk, choosing to ignore the boxes around the room. He clicked his tongue in irritation- he truly had done very little these last few years. “Sorry.”

            The word caught him off guard, and he looked up, but Glorfindel’s eyes were not upon his. They stared out into the middle of the room, and he wondered what, exactly, Glorfindel was apologizing for.

            “Fin?” He asked, seeking to distract the warrior, “Do you know where he kept his things- like quills, ink, extra parchment?” He might not be home at a decent hour after all. Somehow, he hadn’t expected things to be quite  _this_ bad. Glorfindel shook himself, mumbled another apology, and then opened a side-board.

            “I think he keeps-“ He stopped, and corrected himself. “ _Kept_ them in here.”

            Erestor accepted the items gratefully, and decided that he did indeed need some help with this. Glorfindel did not seem to be up to the task, and there was a grief in those blue eyes which had been apparent since the traitors had been found. Now, however, the shadow was greater, and Erestor fought to alieve it. “Right- I will start on these if you can sort those by date. I need the earliest first.” The blonde nodded, and Erestor fought a sigh. It was going to be a long day.


	11. An Inefficient Use of Fish Hooks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already had this one almost complete earlier today, but in the spirit of posting it because my Beta was too busy, this has NOT been beta'd! So exciting, right? RIGHT?!?!
> 
> Okay, maybe not that exciting. Do you remember Rog's sister from Midsummer Night's Dance? The one that had Rog bending under her thumb who we never actually met? Well, congratulations, we're meeting her- today! Naraca- Quenya, courtesy of elfdict- 'harsh, rending, violent'. And the mahogany comment... well, let's just say that the odds of Ecthelion getting through tonight without a minor freak-out are NOT in his favor. :-) 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy! Let me know what you think in the comments below. I love your reviews! Really, I print them out and put them in my shrine to the writing gods.

 

                 Ecthelion glanced worriedly at the sun outside of his window. It was near sunset, and Erestor  _still_ hadn’t returned. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t be worried. After all, he  _was_ with one of the most powerful- if most thickheaded- elves in the city, and even on his own, Erestor was enough of a match to keep honest elves honest.

                But now, and he realized that this was his fear, now there were many  _dishonest_ elves in Gondolin, and he had no way of telling which ones were and which were not. He decided to head for Glorfindel’s home, an idea lodging itself in his brain. Hopefully, he would just have to lecture them both, in depth, about propriety, and give them the ‘can’t you wait, it is only a short time until you are married’ speech. It was one he’d perfected, giving it several times these last few weeks.                                ‘ _Please’,_  he thought,  _‘Let it be something as simple as that.’_  There were other thoughts that taunted him as well- what if he had left to work on the tunnel with the Princess and was found? And, even worse, what if the ones who had found him were  _not_ the King’s guards?

                On the way, he walked near the practice fields, knowing that his old friend sometimes liked to practice without a crowd. If this was the case, Erestor wouldn’t be far, and they could head home quickly. Unfortunately, the fields were empty except for a lone cat, likely searching for field mice.

                He continued on his way, for the first time appreciating the fact that the House of the Golden Flower and that of Silver Fountains were close together. A light knock gained him entry, and he was announced promptly. Without waiting for the Lord of the House, which was proper, he headed up the stairs. All of the doors were shut completely except for one, and he gently pressed it open, relieved to find his brother grumbling to himself over a stack of papers.

                “Erestor!” He exclaimed, making the younger jump. Erestor cut off a curse and quickly blotted some spilled ink off of the desk.

                “Thel, you can’t just break into someone’s study and start yelling. It’s rude.” He admonished, wondering if he would  _ever_  get his brother or Glorfindel to appreciate even basic manners.

                “I can’t break- do you know how late it is?” He asked incredulously. He’d spent the last hour worrying about his brother, and now Erestor dared to  _chastise_ him about it?

                Some books shifted, and he found himself looking at a rather embarrassed blonde. “To tell the truth, that’s probably my fault. There aren’t any windows in here, as you can see, and the servants were instructed not to interrupt.”

Ecthelion opened his mouth to snap at them, and then rolled his eyes with a sigh. “No, not your fault.” He mumbled. “What is it,” he began, turning to his younger brother who was now watching him curiously from the desk, “That causes you to inevitably banning servants from wherever you’re working? You  _always_ do that, and  _always_ lose track of time!”                                “No, I do not!” Erestor squawked indignantly.

          He glanced to Glorfindel who shrugged with a sheepish grin. “I hate to say it, but sometimes you do.”

          Erestor promptly glared at him, and Ecthelion released a sigh, feeling very much put-upon. “Res, leave the rest of this for tomorrow. Remember, you’ve still got to talk to Lord Rog tomorrow, and you have a meeting with the Princess.”

          Glorfindel gave them both sharp looks, focusing mainly on Erestor. “Lord Rog? What’s that about?” There had long been a competitive edge between Lord Rog and Lord Glorfindel. This went from fights and tourneys on the field to races and almost anything else that  _could_ be competed for. Unfortunately, since Erestor had chosen to take Lord Rog as his date to Midsummer’s Eve, it had extended even further, this time to Erestor himself. And Erestor did  _not_ like being fought over like a toy between two dogs.

          “Fin,” he said wearily, tired of the argument, “I am not interested in Lord Rog in any way except that as a friend. Leave it alone.”

           The blonde frowned. “To be fair, you did-“

           “I know very well what I did, Fin!” He snapped in irritation. “I’m going to try and convince him not to do something  _incredibly_ stupid that might throw everything that we’ve done to save Gondolin off the last bloody wall.”

          Glorfindel opened his mouth to respond, but Ecthelion beat him to it. “By the Valar, you two run hot and cold, don’t you?” He shook his head. Generally, the two of them were inseparable, but  sometimes they could argue with the best of them. Oddly enough, those arguments coincided when the name ‘Rog’ was mentioned in any conversation. Erestor had apologized once and explained himself, and refused to apologize again. Glorfindel couldn’t banish his competitive streak for more than an hour. The mix usually didn’t end well.

          The two were silent for a moment before Erestor decided to be the voice of reason once more. “I apologize for sniping at you, but you  _know_ how much this annoys me. I really, truly am not interested in Rog. After all, it’s  _you_ I’m marrying, yes?”

          The last brought a smile to his face before it fell and he gnawed on his lower lip. “Yes, I- I am sorry as well.” He moved to the desk, entwining their fingers. “I just cannot help it!”

          Erestor sighed and turned his head again. “What is it with you and Rog?” He mused aloud. “I am not exactly someone to be jealous over.”

          Glorfindel frowned and rested his forehead on Erestor’s, looking into those silvery eyes. ‘ _I could be very happily lost there.’_  He mused. “Yes, Res, you are.” He stated simply. “I am only surprised that I am arguing only with Lord Rog about this- not with half of the single elves in Gondolin.”

          Erestor promptly blushed, and was saved from having to respond by his brother's gagging noise. "Definitely hot and cold. Erestor, come on, we're going home. Fin- I don't know, do whatever you do at night."

          Ecthelion turned and stepped out into the hall, studiously ignoring Glorfindel's  _terrible_ comment about 'all I do is dream of you', and tried to ignore his brothers similarly overly-sweet response, but failed. "Erestor!" He called, and heard his brother laugh. He ended up having to bodily separate the two as they seemed to decide that this was a good time to begin exploring one another's mouths, and he was most certainly  _not_ going to stand there while Glorfindel molested his brother on top of Lord Ninquaion's desk.

          They headed home in relative silence, until a rather comical figure stumbled into their path. Lord Rog himself had, apparently, tied a rope to a set of fishing hooks- much too small to hook onto a wall, if that was what he had planned- and was apparently attempting to swing it around to launch it onto one of the palace pillars. Ecthelion slammed into him without so much as a 'by your leave', tackling the burly Lord to the ground. Erestor tugged the rope out of shaky hands, discarding it behind some hedges and assisted his brother in taking the now unconscious Lord home. ' _Aiya!'_  Erestor thought in a mix of amusement and horrified embarrassment, ' _at least I don't have to look for him now.'_   

          The palace was in the very center of the city, and it was not long at all to reach the House of the Hammer of Wrath and Warfare. They did not have to be announced- several servants and Lord Rog's sister were wringing their hands, and in the case of his sister, pacing and snarling as a mother wolf with a missing cub might. "I see you've found my drunk idiot of a brother." She intoned dryly, gesturing for them to bring him into the house. "Please, come, drop the heavy lout, and I shall have a servant get you something- tea, perhaps? Or something stronger?"

          The brothers released the still-sleeping elf onto a rather soft looking rug in front of a large fireplace, and while Ecthelion requested tea, stating that it was far too late for anything else, Erestor took it upon himself to look around. The house was not built as wide and open as the House of the Silver Fountain was. Rather, the hallways were wide enough only for three or four elves to pass at a time, and the ceilings were only about as high as an elf standing on another's shoulders. The main lounge was a large room, but wherever open spaces had once been, they had been filled- thick, warm rugs and animal skins, low-lying tables, suits of armor, and grand paintings. 

         The Lady of the house saw where his gaze fell and guessed correctly at his thoughts. "My brother and I, and father, too, never liked open spaces much. The Ice was terrible for more than just the cold and the breaking."

          He nodded at that, and before he could ask if their mother had felt similarly, a groaning sound rose from the floor. “You absolute _fool_! What exactly do you think you were doing?”

            Rog groaned at the sound of his sister’s voice, and covered one ear with his hand. “Too loud.” He grumbled, and attempted to roll over. That had been a bad idea, if the faint gagging sound was any indication. “Think a horse kicked me.”

            Ecthelion moved to stand over him, frowning. “No, that would have been me. Mainly because you looked as if you were about to try and storm the bloody gates!”

            “If I may interrupt,” Erestor began, and flinched at the harsh looks being sent his way, “this may be a good time to point out that if you _had_ been caught, there would be three lords imp- in council, and if you hadn’t, well. Do you just _want_ a kinslaying?”

            “At least _someone_ speaks sense in this house. Have you anything to say for yourself, most idiotic brother mine?” Her voice was pure vitriol, and even Ecthelion winced. She turned that gaze towards Erestor and softened her tone a little. “Don’t worry about that council garbage, this one cannot keep his mouth shut when drinking. I already know.”

            There was no relief for the drunken Lord, however, though he certainly whined a half-dozen excuses. “Not a kinslaying, no, just- teach him a lesson.”

            Rog’s sister gave no quarter. “Oh, is that all? Well tell me, brother, how would you have taught him a lesson _without_ beating him half to death?”

            He had no answer for that, and Ecthelion took his turn, asking, “If things go sour, we need as many people who can defend themselves, as well as defend those who can’t, as we can. You can’t simply risk that due to a night of overindulgence!”

            “I know, I know.” He mumbled, forcing himself to sit up. “Just can’t stand what the King has planned.”

            Giving up on the idea of having his brother home at a reasonable hour, Ecthelion took a seat on one of the many chairs situated around the room, and Erestor followed suit. His sister let out a heaving sigh and asked them, “The King announced the tourney partners earlier today. Those who weren’t at the Greater Market will have a messenger sent to them, and so on and so forth. The main thing is- Maeglin and Ninquaion are being allowed to participate.” She mumbled something quite foul as a servant entered, setting down their tray of tea. He looked upon his mistress’s face, and without asking, set out a bottle of brandy and the glasses before exiting.

            “How can you say it like that, Naraca? Most ridiculous, stupi-“

            “My, that’s clever.” Erestor said, interrupting what was beginning to be a tirade.

            “Huh?” Was Rog’s reply. Ecthelion appeared similarly confused, and Rog’s sister, Naraca, seemed relieved that there was someone else in the house who understood politics.

            Erestor shook his head. “Sorry, I was just-“ Seeing that he had become the center of attention, he straightened and took on a stance that Ecthelion knew from experience meant they were about to have a lecture.

            “Just think about it. King Turgon wants to keep everyone from panicking, yes? That’s why we have the whole ‘in council’ ruse. This tourney- everyone but the merchants gets a break. _Everyone in Gondolin_ will be there. And two of the most well-known Lords in the city are not even attending?” He stood up, pacing a few steps back and forth. “No, if that happens, nothing the King, the Princess, or anyone else in Gondolin says can stop rumors and suspicion. He has to play the part, so they have to be there, and as they both stated earlier in the year that they wanted to participate- well, they have to.”

            Rog still looked confused, and Ecthelion let his head fall backwards upon his shoulders, staring up at the low ceiling. “Are you telling me that everything- protecting the Princess, making sure that no one knows of their treachery, making a safe way out of Gondolin for Tulkas’s sake, _all depends on a_ TOURNEY?!” His hands slammed down on the chair’s arms, and quick as a striking serpent, Naraca hit him in the head with a boot.

            “Mind the mahogany!”

            Echelion seethed in rage, chest heaving, Erestor glanced at Rog’s sister in shock, and Rog snorted indelicately. “Now you see why I drink.” He stated with a wry smirk.

            Ecthelion’s hands were clenching and unclenching, as was his jaw, so Erestor picked that time to grab his brother’s arm and drag him to a standing position. “We have to go. Hopefully, your servants at least can keep silent about our presence?”

            Naraca raised an eyebrow. “They can keep silent or lose their tongues.” There was no jest in her words, simply an honest coolness that reminded him- oddly enough, of his mother.

            “Very good, then. I shall see you both at the tourney- and Rog?” The other Lord looked up at him, struggling to his feet. “No storming the palace, all right?” Without waiting for a response, Erestor drug his snarling brother out of the house, and they were at their own home in record time.

            ‘ _The rage is understandable this time,’_ Erestor thought, watching his brother beat some poor, senseless training dummy. ‘ _Everything- everything depends on the tourney.’_


	12. The Tourney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like occasional descriptions of medieval weapons, pretty horses, and Lord Egalmoth of the Heavenly Arch (rainbows, lol) kicking ass in his rainbow tunic. Because it's here! This isn't beta-read because I'm going to have a SUPER busy weekend and finals are coming up. I really just wanted to get this out so you guys aren't waiting forever and a day for the next update. Enjoy! Please please please let me know what you think, I'm upgrading my shrine. 
> 
> Oh, and can anyone tell me who the grandson of Turgon's grandson is? Here's a hint: he's a badass sexy matchmaker. Oh, and I guess he can heal things and control the weather, but whatever. :-)

                Today was the day of the tourney. Flags had been set out from each house, ladies in their best dresses and lords in their most handsome robes, tunics, and leggings. Elflings ran in between admonishing parents, vendors called out their wares loudly enough to be heard- just barely- over the crowd, and minstrels played their flutes, strummed harps, and tapped on drums. All of this stopped, almost immediately, when the highest balcony of the palace opened, and heralds blew loudly on shining trumpets to announce their king.

                For the next few moments, laughter and clapping ensued- such holidays were popular with all classes, and rare for a city at siege. Young boys howled from the rooftops, young girls threw flowers or joined their brothers to the chastisement of their mothers. Few noted how tired King Turgon seemed, how his stern face held bags beneath his eyes, how his proud bearing had become slightly shaky, and how, when he raised his hands to speak, his voice did not carry so far as it once did. Aging was a foreign thing to these elves, and few of them knew of what horrors invaded their King’s nightly reverie. The trumpets blew once more, and all were silent except for the very youngest, who were hushed by mothers and nannies.

                “People of Gondolin!” He roared over the crowd. “As many of you know, I have been gifted with something precious indeed seven years ago- a grandson!” Cheers rang out, and the King allowed them for a moment before raising a hand once more. “Indeed, this is a joyous event. For Eärendil’s first presentation, the bravest of our city shall fight for his honor, and the honor of guarding my daughter, the princess!” This time, both the crowd and many of the competitors joined in, and the King allowed them, gesturing to someone behind him. He smiled at something below the balustrade, and knelt.

                This was greeted with absolute silence. The King bowed to no one. He rose again, with a small, curious child in his arms, and stood him upon the wide balcony, allowing the child to see his people. “I present to you, my most precious star, Eärendil Tuorilion, who, if some foul thing should occur, will take my place as King of Gondolin.” The assembled elves voices rose once more, and the shocked half-elf dug his fingers into his grandfather’s tunic to much laughter. Even the ever-stern King smiled at this, and then his smile fell. “Today, from one of my Lords, a most precious vow will be taken. It will not be taken lightly, and I have pooled the power in my blood to this vow. It shall bind their very souls, and it will be unbreakable. The warrior who wins this tourney will guard my line until the grandson of my grandson no longer walks Arda.”

                Silence and nervous glances ensued. This was something that only one of the Valar might do, and many felt that it might not be quite so wise. The King continued, “And for this reason- and this reason only, I decree that none may look upon any who choose to remove themselves from the tourney and become a spectator, with any sort of scorn! This vow, the honor that comes with guarding a scion of my line, and for any whom are not already Lords or Ladies of their houses, a Lordship, shall be their prizes.”

                The princess slipped from the room behind her father, laying a hand upon his arm. “And once the sun rises to its’ zenith today- the tourney shall begin! Another celebration must be announced as well.” Clapping began once more, but more subdued this time. There was a greater risk now- a greater reward, certainly, but greater danger as well. She did not wait for silence as her father might, but merely continued, “A wedding binding two of our houses, that of the Golden Flower and of the Silver Fountain, shall be had upon the next full moon!”

                From the section of the city directly beside the tourney-hall, with the families and friends of competitors, while Erestor politely and cheerfully accepted all congratulations, his mind raced. He and the Princess had set up a meeting, and Turgon could not know of it- he had outright forbidden Idril from continuing with their plot, and, through both Erestor’s and Idril’s scheming, believed that she had taken over his and Glorfindel’s wedding as she often did with many things. This, Turgon seemed to believe, was a much more lady-like pursuit, and far less dangerous. Idril was set to give him a cue- announcing his wedding- a month before Morgoth’s hordes were expected to arrive, so that they could move things even further. Tonight would be a full moon, so she evidently expected them to have around two months of peace while preparing.

                His thoughts were interrupted when the Greater Market, which had been completely cleared, and stands had been built around it, was suddenly occupied with the sound of horses. Hoof beats echoed as a rider, dressed all in green from his tunic to his leggings to the blanket upon his chestnut steed turned a full circle. A herald, directed by Turgon announced, “Our first competitor, Galdor of the House of the Tree!” Another elf entered, taking his turn around the arena. His sir-coat was golden, and his gray horse’s blanket was bronze. “And his opponent, Lord Ninquaion of the House of the Golden Flower!” People called out, and Erestor clapped along with them politely. Ostensibly, he was supporting his husband’s house. He silently prayed that Galdor knocked him into a pile of horse dung.

                The rules were simple. Each warrior, if he did not have a sword, shield, lance, and horse, would be provided them. They would take three turns attempting to knock one another from their horse. Ten points would be awarded for every shield hit with the lance; ten points would be taken away if the warrior struck anywhere but the shield or the chest plate. Once one warrior was unhorsed, or all three turns were taken, they would dismount, stable hands would lead their horses and lances away, and they would fight with a sword of their choice. At that time, points would be awarded with ten to the first strike, ten to the opposition every time a warrior fell or was struck down, and the fight would end when one warrior surrendered or the King decided that it was getting too close to becoming a kinslaying.

                Galdor took his stance at the far Northern side of the arena, placed his shining helmet upon his brow, and took up his ash lance, painted with green leaves. Ninquaion rode to the Southern side, accepted his own helmet, and took up his lance of oak, bare of any decoration. At the trumpet sound, they charged, and right away, Ninquaion’s lance slammed into Galdor’s shield. Many cheered, just as many released catcalls, and Erestor was silent. They took the second turn, and Galdor took his revenge, almost unseating Ninquaion. His lance dug into the shield, and they had to wait a moment for a replacement to be delivered. On the third round, Galdor’s lance shattered completely and knocked the blonde from his horse.

                Points were calculated, and Galdor had won the jousting round! They waited again, and soon their horses were led away to stables with plenty of fodder, and Ninquaion’s lance- as well as the remains of Galdor’s- were taken away. Pages entered the arena with a selection of swords, and Galdor chose his own Falchion, the hand guard decorated with a great oak, the symbol of his house. Ninquaion picked his own sword as well, a simple long sword with flowers inlaid in the hilt. And they fought fiercely. Neither surrendered, and so the King had to call an end to the battle- unfortunately, Ninquaion had won by a landslide and would make it to the next round. Realizing that many were waiting upon his approval, he clapped along with the rest, and congratulated the knight of the Tree upon a good and fierce battle.

                The next contestants were announced- Tuor himself would fight, to the shock of many. He wore the King’s standard upon his tunic and shield, and his wife had placed her favorite ribbons in his horse’s shimmering mane and upon his lance of some dark wood. ‘ _Mahogany’,_ Erestor thought to himself and had to stifle a laugh. Penlod, Lord of both the House of the Pillar and the House of Snow, sat astride his snow-white mare across from him, and he was all in white and shining metal, so that it hurt the eyes to look upon him. His lance, as well, was painted white, and it was of a sweet-smelling pine. They rode at one another once, twice- and Tuor was unseated! They fought bravely, but Tuor conceded the fight, the both of them smiling, as his own strength was no match for that of an elf’s.

                Salgant, that friend of Maeglin’s, had rode in next. There had been suspicion of his involvement, but as the King and his advisors had found nothing, he had not been notified of any of the happenings. Still, he had been watched, and to the planners of Gondolin’s escape, he was a nerve-wracking unknown. He rode in upon his steed, his sur-coat and clothing were a fine purple, and embroidered all around with harps. His lance had been painted with the likeness of lavender, the common mountain flower found everywhere in Gondolin. Across from him was a warrior of the House of the Snow, and Erestor laughed though he feared for the safety of said warrior. Glorfindel’s youngest niece had entered herself in the tourney.

                Though Salgant beat her soundly at the joust, once she was on her two feet, her sabre in hand, he had not a chance, and was forced to surrender the fight. Erestor clapped for her quite loudly, and laughed as he was tackled by a young, muddy, warrior lady. “Go!” He told her after dusting off the dirt and leaves which had gathered, “And tell your uncle that he must win for me.” She laughed at him in turn, and left as well.

                The next rider was Duilin of the Swallow, and he wore a softer grey with the likeness of Nienna painted upon his chest-plate, and mourning doves sewn into his tunic and the blanket of his gentle bay mare. Maeglin, dressed in the muddy browns of the House of the Mole, rode across from him, and few cheered for Maeglin. His demeanor made any enemy more popular than him. They rode at one another, and neither unseated the other. Once they fought, things were more even. At one point, Maeglin pulled an illegal move to disarm him, and to the sound of catcalls and boos, Duilin drove his fist into the point of his nose. Cheers rang out again, and Turgon gave the victory to the Lord of the Swallow.

                A new rider rode in, Galdor’s favored scout, Laiqalassë. He wore his Lord’s colors and bore his shield, but was issued a plain lance as he generally favored the bow. Across him was Egalmoth, Lord of the Heavenly Arch, arrayed in all the colors of his namesake. The scout was unseated upon the first ride, and, more familiar with his knives than a sword, was disarmed by Egalmoth’s snake-like quickness, and surrendered. Both were cheered for, however, for the scout had fought in a much different manner than that which was usually seen in such combats.

                Erestor and his mother both cheered (she had finally deigned to join them), when Ecthelion, in the blue and silver of their house, in his helmet topped with diamonds, rode out on his favored black steed. The stallion pranced, impatiently stamping his hooves, and the second rider appeared. The lady was upon a great steed, and her crimson and midnight livery drew the attention of all who cared to watch. Upon the first round, she shattered her lance upon Ecthelion’s shield, and had to wait for another. Ecthelion repaid her in kind, and upon the third round, though both hit their targets, neither were unseated. This was almost unheard of- one might best his brother with a sword, but he had rarely, if ever, lost a joust. All watched eagerly as they dismounted and waited for their swords.

                Ecthelion chose his favored blade, a full-length bastard sword made out of shining steel, with opals in the hilt, while his opponent chose an iron greatsword- suddenly, none could doubt who this lady knight was, and they were upon one another, blades and shields clashing. Eventually, the King declared Ecthelion the winner by the barest of margins, but there was no doubt in the mind of any that Lady Nuanca might have bested him should the fight have lingered on.

                Lord Rog rode out immediately after, and in similar clothes of crimson and blackest night. The poor young elf they had set him against, one of the younger scions of the House of the Heavenly Arch, had not a chance. The young Lord, barely more than an elfling himself, was promptly unseated on the first turn, and was forced to surrender within a few blows- one of which tore his shield right off of his arm! Rog was declared the victor to the shock of no one, and the final pair rode out.

                The first elf, a page who deemed himself ready to become a knight, at least, bravely took a turn around the arena, but there was little noise made for him.  It was the last Lord whom all waited upon with baited breath. Glorfindel rode his proud stallion out at full charge, allowing the war-horse to rear and stamp as was his want, golden hair flying like strikes of lightning, and his countenance was as hungry for battle as Tulkas himself.

                Erestor pitied the page. The Golden Lord, in bright and shining armor with golden flowers braided beside his ears, was a sight to behold. His house’s livery shone brightly as the sun, and Erestor saw- much to his amusement, that his proud mane was held back by silver clips with topaz studs. He raised an eyebrow to his mother who shrugged unapologetically, and laughed as the Lord of the Golden Flower reined his horse in near him to accept a very public good luck kiss. This time, it was he who flushed brightly, and Glorfindel grinned at him before taking his place at the southern end of the arena.

                At the trumpet sound, they charged, and to the surprise of many, the page managed, just barely, to hang on to his horse. Though he did strike a hit to Glorfindel’s shield, it was not enough to keep him from being unhorsed in the second round.

                Unlike Lord Rog, Glorfindel, in a rather good mood, allowed the page a handful of chances to land blows with his sword. Still, the page who had mistakenly believed that the bigger the sword was, the more effective it was, was quickly defeated with Glorfindel’s almost ordinary longsword.

                Cheers rose again as Turgon announced the winners of the first round, and all except for the warriors involved were able to take a break. Those who lost either found their way to friends and family in the crowd or joined in the private boxes reserved for them. Servants quickly ran in, cleaning up horse dung, shards of wood from broken lances and chipped shields, and mopping up blood when necessary, as just inside the competitor’s area, craftsmen set to repairing armor, sharpening swords, and replacing damaged shields. The Princess drew lots to determine who would fight who in the next battle.

                Almost half an hour later, trumpets sounded once more, and as the sun moved on its’ course, the starting areas were moved from north and south to east and west. Lord Ninquaion rode out first this time, taking place on the eastern side, and Lord Rog opposed him on the west. Ninquaion lasted until the third round, in which he was knocked from his seat, and the two Lords faced off with their blades drawn. At this point, Lord Ninquaion’s preference for circling the enemy at a distance told against him- Rog’s greatsword was _built_ for distance, and Glorfindel’s father was forced to surrender.

                The next round went to Lord Penlod in his shining white and Glorfindel’s niece. Penlod appeared to attempt to make it a bit easier on the young Lady, but mistook her gender for frailty. She knocked him down on the first run, and the older elf only barely won against the warrior of his own house.

                After that, Lord Duilin in his greys rode against Glorfindel in his gold, and both remained seated for the three rounds. They fought upon the stone ground, and Duilin was forced to surrender, though the Lord of the Swallow did not appear particularly disappointed in this. In this second round, the knowledge that they would have to take a vow upon winning became somehow more real, though they could no longer drop out of the competition entirely.

                Erestor cheered again, both for Glorfindel and for his brother when he rode out against Lord Egalmoth in the final round. Ecthelion won his pride back when he both shattered his lance upon Lord Egalmoth’s shield and knocked the Lord to the ground in the same move on the first turn. Afterwards, he seemed to take Egalmoth standing in front of him as a personal affront, and fought like a demon against the other Lord, who surrendered.

                The winners were then announced once more, Idril again drew lots, and stable boys and craftsmen bent their heads and backs to their work. Soon, his brother rode out once more, this time against Lord Rog, and unfortunately, the Lord of the Hammer of Wrath bested him. Ecthelion sheathed his sword and clinked and clanked his way to the box, sitting himself, still in full plate mail, next to Erestor. Erestor scrunched his nose. “It was a good fight, brother, but you need a bath.” Ecthelion, of course, took that as an invitation to embrace his younger brother, and Gilyā promptly separated the two of them.

                Glorfindel then rode out, a living storm once more, and Lord Penlod followed him. Sunlight and moonlight fought bravely, but Glorfindel had him bested easily. Lord Penlod, though he was a warrior, was more familiar with the administration part of his lordship, and had tired easily. Erestor also suspected that the surrender in the final part was, in part, fear of the unbreakable vow.

                Though the servants and craftsmen did their jobs, the Princess did not bother picking lots- why, when there were only two to choose from? The final warriors rode out as the sun slowly began to sink, and all the eyes of Gondolin were upon them. Rog and Glorfindel rode at one another and the sound was that of a mighty glacier scraping upon rock. To many cheers, they turned their steeds and rode again, Glorfindel this time striking the Lord of the Hammer directly in the chest plate. There was a unified, held breath when, on the third round, the dark-haired blacksmith seemed to be just a moment away from losing his seat. Lord Rog held on, however, and so the fighting round began.

Unlike his father, Glorfindel did not play at watching his enemy first. As Glorfindel often did, he simply charged head-on, and that tactic seemed to work- for a few moments.  When most fought Lord Rog, they attempted to circumvent him by attacking from the sides, rarely straight ahead. Soon, they were evenly matched once more, and though Glorfindel had drawn first blood, Rog had caused him to lose his footing more than once. Now that the first, headlong rush had ended, the circling began. Rog tried to keep this from happening, slamming his sword down into Glorfindel’s shield, but once the blonde had an idea in his head, he was like a dog with a bone. He danced around the other Lord, occasionally getting sharp strikes that would have been deadly had Rog not been wearing armor, and being careful to dodge the heavy swings from the blacksmith.

The delaying tactic worked, and Rog began to tire. Now, Glorfindel rushed once more, and Rog lacked the speed to keep him off any longer. Exhausted, Rog finally surrendered, and Glorfindel, to the cheers of many, was declared the victor.

“Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, I declare you victor of this tourney!” The King called, and the elves who had simply wished to see a good fight began to disperse. The rest crowded in to take their places. Glorfindel executed a bow along with a fancy salute from his sword, and Erestor wondered faintly if he was the only one to see how obviously tired he was. Sweat had dampened his proud mane, and his left arm, where Rog had nearly bashed his sword _through_ the shield seemed to be twitching.

“Let it be known to all whom watch that you are the Lord of your House, with no contest from your father.” Clapping rose, and, sensing the King’s mood, quickly fell. The King himself had left the palace and was speaking from the top of the stands. Now, he walked down, and in his path, all, including Erestor, bowed. Glorfindel knelt before his King and offered the hilt of his sword. The King took it.

“Glorfindel. Do you swear, in the eyes of this city and in the eyes of Eru Illuvatar, and the Valar, that you shall do all in your power to protect my daughter, my grandson, his children, and his children’s children?”

The King was no longer shouting, but among the silent elves, his voice carried as easily as a general’s over a battlefield. “I do swear.”

The King, with Glorfindel’s own sword, cut the palm of his hand, blood slowly trickling down the scratched, dented, still-shining blade. He then gestured for Glorfindel to rise, and pierced the Golden Lord’s left hand, causing the blood to mingle. Glorfindel’s sword was returned to him, and after a moment of silence, the tourney was deemed finished, and the people dismissed. Glorfindel remained in the arena, and Erestor went to him, binding his wound with a piece of fabric torn from his navy robes. He was swiftly embraced, and while servants tore down the temporary stands, cleaned the arena, which was becoming more recognizable as the Greater Market once more, he guided his tired, shaking warrior to his family, and, eventually, to his home.

Liquor flowed freely at the victory- after Erestor made sure both of them _bathed_ for Nienna’s sake- and the somber mood lightened. Night fell, and the Lords of the Silver Fountain returned once more to their own home, while Glorfindel made his way to his rooms for much-needed reverie.

 


	13. Mischief Managed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no reviews! *horrified gasp* My shrine to the writing gods was not upgraded as I had hoped! Ah, well, here's a new chapter anyway. I hope everybody had a good Thanksgiving, if you celebrate that! If not- well, I hope you had a good weekend. This is unbeta'd, so if you see any errors or anything, please let me know!
> 
> Next time Elrond wonders where the twins get their mischief from- well, I have an answer for him. :-) Salgant's thing in this chapter isn't anything bad towards Earendil, if that makes any sense. It's actually in the Fall of Gondolin (unfinished tales) that they were friends and playmates.
> 
> Melmë- love
> 
> Edit: 12/2/2015: I accidentally made Earendil dark haired, but he is 'golden haired'. Oops. I fixed it!

          Erestor had just finished another meeting with the Princess in which they had finally nailed down some escape routes for those on the far side of the city, when she called a servant in for refreshments and for several books. “Might I ask what those are for?” He asked curiously.

          “Of course!” She responded, once again a bubbly absent-minded Princess now that they were no longer speaking of Gondolin’s safety. He had found that underneath the cheerful exterior, the Princess, though not exactly as knowledgeable about tactics as a son of a Lord trained in tactics was, was stubborn as a mule and determined to do anything she could to ensure the safety of her people, and her son in particular. Idril set out the books, showing him- was that a menu? And what were they doing next to robes?

          Idril seemed to be fighting a smile at his confusion. “Your wedding, Lord Erestor, is in only three weeks. I thought you might want to take a look at the plans.”

          He had nearly forgotten that Idril actually _was_ planning their wedding, and that they were not simply faking it to gain time. He smiled and moved around to look closer. “Aiya! How time flies. Tell me, my Lady, what have you planned for us?” That was a new and joyous thing- _us._ In many cases, he now could use ‘we’ instead of ‘I’ and ‘us’ instead of ‘me’, and he had caught Glorfindel doing so as well, a great many times. Soon, they would truly be bound, and he would also have the honor of calling Glorfindel his husband. The time between the tourney and their appointed wedding date in a few weeks would likely be spent just as this last week had- impatience, nervousness, anxiety, and hope all mingled with the stress of the possible fall of a kingdom. With great effort, he pushed the latter from his mind and focused on the former.

          “Well, since I have planned it, and it would be rude indeed for me not to attend,” she began, “I thought to have it in the main hall of the palace. Of course, so many have asked to attend that-”

          “Wait- so many? How many, exactly?” He had made it clear he wanted a smaller wedding, and yet one at the palace itself with the main hall suggested a large event.

          Idril made a humming noise. “Oh, only the pertinent ones. The King, Tuor, my son, and I of course.”

          He nodded. “Of course. And who else?” He asked, and she smiled at him.

          “Your mother, your brother- I would say Glorfindel, but he is to be the groom anyway, and it is tradition for the upper echelons to attend, so the Lords of each house, their Ladies, any heirs or children.” She continued, “And Lord Glorfindel did have several cousins whom he _has_ to invite, and they have all married in except for that one elleth in the tourney, and she is, if you shall excuse the gossip, more than a little fond of her Lord.”

          He paled at the list and sat back. “So- excluding the royal family, we have Glorfindel’s six cousins-“

          “Two have children.” She interrupted, apparently amused at his reaction.

          “Pardon, six cousins, a few nephews or nieces, eleven Lords- Maeglin will _not_ be at my wedding.” He waited a moment for her to nod. Maeglin’s lack of attendance was non-negotiable. “Good. Then we have all of their children, and don’t most of them _have_ children already?”

          Idril tried and failed to hide a smile. “Lord Duilin has three daughters of his own, my Lord. And four sons.”

          He must have made some terrible noise as she began to laugh. “Oh, and we cannot forget all of the servants, all of the common folk who will no doubt come to see one of the most eligible bachelors in Gondolin and Lord Glorfindel be married.”

          He swallowed and stared down at the pages as if they were about to leap from the table and devour him. Idril patted him on the shoulder kindly. “How about you go warn your betrothed that it shall be a large wedding, and leave the rest to me?” She asked gently.

          He nodded slowly. “Mother has decided that she should provide both of us with the correct headwear and me robes as a wedding gift, but he doesn’t have any that I know of.”

          She leaned down and flipped through a few pages, stopping on sets of robes and lists of materials. Dipping her quill in ink, she quickly marked out several parts of a list and a label on a set of robes, then made a note in the margin on a blank page. He tried to lift it up to see what was under it, but she merely smiled and batted his hand away. “’Tis bad luck to see groom’s clothing for the wedding Lord Erestor.”

          He huffed in amusement. “And here I thought it was only bad luck to see a wife’s wedding dress.”

          She laughed at that. “Yes, that too.” She dusted a small amount of powdered corn silk over the pages to dry the ink and shooed him off. “Now go, my lord, and enjoy yourself.”

          He shook his head, politely kissed the knuckles on Idril’s outstretched hand, and exited the Princess’s chambers. As he was leaving, he was stopped by a curious little elfling. “Hi.”

          The golden-haired child looked up at him, stretching his neck back in an amusing manner. “Hello, little one.” He said with a smile before dropping down on a knee to ease the child’s discomfort.

          “Are you a real elf?” The boy asked suspiciously, and Erestor could not help his snort of laughter.

          Smiling, he responded. “I do apologize for the rude demeanor, my young Lord. Yes, I am very much a real elf.”

          Eärendil cocked his head to the side. “I’ve never met a real elf before.”

          Erestor was a bit confused himself. “Your father is human, that is true, but your mother and grandfather are both elves.”

          The young boy shook his head. “Sometimes Salgant plays the flute for me outside, and he says elves that dan-dar-dal- mess with humans aren’t _real_ elves.”

          He frowned and stood. “Being a real elf is just a blood thing, young one. Lord Salgant has-“ How to say misinformed in a manner that the child might understand? “told you something untrue. Have you told your mother about this?” ‘ _Or about Salgant playing a flute to you in the garden?’_ He thought privately.

          The child shook his head. “Well,” he said as cheerfully as he could, “If you’d like, we can go speak to her now! She is in her rooms.”

          The boy looked down sadly. “I’m not allowed to go in there when she’s in meetings with Lord Erz-Els-Ess”

          “Res, if that’s easier.” He interrupted with a smile. The few humans he had met sometimes had difficulty pronouncing his name, but likely this was just a product of his youth.

          The child looked up at him. “Do you think he wouldn’t mind? Mama says that I’m not supposed to call anybody anything but their real name.”

          He offered a hand to the elfling, and the child took it. “I am very sure. As a matter of fact, I doubt Lord Erestor would mind at all.”

          On the way back to Idril’s private rooms, he was regaled with stories of the child’s pursuits- frogs in the maid’s quarters (“but don’t tell anybody!”), water buckets on door frames (“It’s awfully fun. You should try it!”), and Erestor suggested a few of his own- tree sap in hair, hiding small bits of cheese and things outside to encourage cats to come around, bird seed above a childhood enemy’s head. He rapped politely on the door once they’d arrived, and was answered with a cheerful “Come in!”

          Upon opening the door, the child wasted no time in running for his favorite adult, abandoning his new ‘friend’. Erestor laughed at it, and Idril looked up from her son to him. “Lord Erestor, what brings you back so soon?”

          He smiled at the child’s confusion. “But that’s not Res, he’s some big scary elf.”

          Idril huffed at him. “Er-es-tor, child! And you see him right there, he is not scary, though I grant he is larger than the both of us.”

          Erestor chuckled. “Please, Princess, it is my fault- I gave him permission to call me that as he was having trouble pronouncing my name.”

          Eärendil looked grateful for the interruption, and Erestor continued, “And I believe that someone has something to tell you about a new flute-playing friend.” He nodded at the child, said his goodbyes, and left once more.

          Outside of the palace grounds, he was greeted with the sights and sounds of the bustling city of Gondolin once more, and he was grateful for it. The palace was a quiet place which he could easily lose track of time in, and he wanted to get a few things done before-hand. First, he headed to the tailors stalls in the market. He wondered if it was cheating to have him pick up the materials that would make his robes, and decided that, as he was also getting materials from the list for his mother’s dress and his brother’s robes, that it likely didn’t matter. He had no way of telling what cloth would go to whom, and there were quite a few selections. He handed over a list with the colors, types, and amounts of fabric, and laden with his burden, prepared to head home.

          He let out a shocked noise as he was grabbed about the waist from behind, and his arm was grabbed before he could properly elbow his attacker. He rolled his eyes and tried to hide his relief when a familiar voice spoke. “Well, if it is not the most beautiful elf in Gondolin! A pleasure to see you here, melmë.”

          “Glorfindel, you are a menace.” He responded with a smile. “What brings you here, dear one?” He asked, turning around as best he could with the heavy bolts of cloth in his arms. Before he could say anything, Glorfindel took most of them for him.

          “Oh, just-“ His face showed a brief panic. “Well, I-“ He huffed, and Erestor began to get worried.

          “What’s wrong?” He asked, hoping that nothing was about to go wrong wedding-wise. His brother had, most unwisely, told him about several friends who had gotten so nervous before their weddings that they had called the entire thing off! “You aren’t about to… cancel this, are you?” Oh, how he hoped this wasn’t the case!

          Glorfindel looked at him in surprise. “No, no! Of course not, melmë, I have just…not exactly put much planning into my attire.”

          Erestor sighed in relief. “Worry not about that, Fin, Idril already has plans for you. She wants you to come in tomorrow before the lunch hour to be fitted, if that’s all right?”

          Glorfindel’s face revealed his own relief as he answered, “Yes, I will be there. What is this about calling off the wedding?” He asked.

          Erestor rolled his eyes and began to walk towards his home across the Greater Market, the blonde trailing after him. “Ecthelion decided that I just _had_ to know about elves who were so terrified of marriage that they ran only a little while before the wedding took place with no warning whatsoever.”

          He heard his soon-to-be mate make a noise behind him as he nudged open the unlocked gate with his foot and entered the house grounds. “And he calls _me_ an idiot.”

          He was unable to stop the huff of laughter as they crossed the front yard, the bubbling fountains cutting off most of the noise from the street, and knocked upon the door.

          “What?” Glorfindel asked, clearly finding his reaction entertaining.

          He turned and fixed the blonde with the most enigmatic smile he could muster and then turned once more to enter when the door was opened, nodding to a servant.

          “ _What?_ ” He repeated, still chasing after him. Erestor laughed, set down the cloth on one of the tables and spun to face him.

          “Nothing.” He responded with a smile, and turned his head to ask a particularly nosy maid to inform his mother that the fabric had been purchased.

          Glorfindel sat down his part of the load and pulled him closer, frowning darkly at him. The intimidating effect was rather ruined by the laughter dancing in his eyes. “Yes, husband?” He asked playfully, and was nearly crushed in an embrace as retribution. His laughter was cut off by a pair of warm lips dancing across his brow, just close enough to his ears to be tempting, and his jaw line- everywhere but where he _wanted_ them. He tried to reach up and ‘assist’ his mate in his aim but found his arms were caught neatly as well.

          He felt Glorfindel’s laugh rumbling in his chest before those lips landed just below the sensitive earlobe. “Uh-uh-uh!” He teased. “You don’t get anything before you say that again.”

          Erestor snickered and decided to play along. “What- nothing?”

          Glorfindel ‘hmm’d’ and settled himself down in one of the comfortable chairs, pulling down the raven-haired elf with him. Immediately, he grabbed ahold of his arms, preventing escape. “No, something a little bit after that.”

          Erestor shifted to make himself more at home in the other elf’s lap, and rested his head on one shoulder. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, husband.”

          Glorfindel huffed out a laugh and finally met his lips, moving his hands to hold instead of entrap, and Erestor was jolted by a sudden blow. “Ah- Fin!” He snapped, glaring at the other elf, who was focusing on- his brother, cheerfully whistling as he headed downstairs.

          “Thel!” He cried angrily, which was answered by his brother’s laughter. “Could you be more ima-mph!”

          The blonde grumbled again, and decided that mid rant was the perfect time to take advantage of an open mouth. Strangely enough, Erestor didn’t seem to want to fight him.


	14. Wedding Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, all of you guys, for sticking through this story. It hasn't ended quite yet, but I just wanted to give a shout-out to all of my lovely reviewers, especially those who have reviewed more than once. Here: have a shiny necklace- Nerdanel says I'm not allowed to keep it because I'll start a war. :-(
> 
> It would only be a little war. 
> 
> Anyway, on to the chapter you're looking for! I should have the next one up in a few days; this and the next are dedicated to pre-wedding stuff. I hope you guys like fluff- and Glorfindel finally gets a GOOD gift. (It's not poison ivy this time, and it's not poisoned cakes either).

           It was, perhaps, a little early when Glorfindel made his way to the palace, but he could not help his nervousness. It only took one round in Turgon’s dungeons for him to be wary, and he would much prefer to be at his wedding in a few weeks, not in a moldy, damp, cold prison cell. He was shown to a lounge where he took a seat while waiting for the Princess, and he took a few moments to watch those around him. He could hear the kitchens distantly- roaring fires, angry cooks, and youths who always believed they were put-upon were hard to ignore. The palace was a spacious place with wide staircases, artfully decorated pillars, and it seemed that some servant was always running somewhere.

           Then again, just adjacent to the palace’s library was the city’s school; this was where elves from the very young to the rather old would become scholars, teachers, architects, and such. Erestor was likely much more comfortable here- he would have been in and out of that section of the palace regularly from a young age. He idly wondered which hall this would all take place in, and before he knew it, a messenger was bowing politely and asking to be followed.

           He was led up four flights of stairs- the palace was not a wide place, but it was tall- and was then asked to wait outside of a room. The door itself was unremarkable except that it looked as if the doorknob had been moved to a lower level- likely to the relief of the rather short Princess and her son. Tuor, almost his own height, was probably less enthused. The door opened, and the Princess herself greeted him, taking him into her private study where- was that some strange doll in the middle of the room? He had always hated those things- they were in every tailor’s office, but they never failed to unnerve him. Several maids were there as well, organizing ribbons, pulling out pins, and one straightening cloth. They giggled as they watched him, and he had a sense of foreboding- this was going to be  _very_ uncomfortable.

           After being poked, prodded, measured, stripped in front of a bunch of blushing maids, poked, measured again, and asked many questions by the princess who seemed to want to learn more about her new guardian, he was finally released to get his clothes back on. He had never, to his knowledge, been more relieved to pull on a pair of leggings. He was sent away by an amused Idril with two gifts, and was told in no uncertain terms not to open his until he was sure that Erestor had received the other. Confused, but grateful to be out of the claws of the harpi- ah,  _handmaidens,_ he complied.

           Lately, he’d been at the House of the Silver Fountain more often than his own home, and so he went in unannounced to find his betrothed. Ecthelion informed him (after rolling his eyes and muttering something about ‘lovesick elves’) that he’d had to resume lessons at the palace, and he’d only just missed him. He left Idril’s gift on Erestor’s bed (after looking around, of course- he didn’t open any drawers, but curiosity could not be halted until he opened the closet) with a note stating that Idril had asked him to drop this off for her, and that he had no idea what it was. Hopefully, it was just something for the wedding, and not anything that he’d need to be there for, as he had things he needed to do as well.

           First was the tour of the walls. Usually, he climbed atop the seventh gate and walked the rounds with his men at least once a week. However, with the madness that had recently occurred, he’d been unable to do so. He endured some bawdy jokes, even laughed at others, ensured that they had enough clothing to fight off the blistering glacial winds, and took a moment to look at the city from the heights. The city of Gondolin was not a wide place, there were only two or three wide fields of crops or pasture, and only one or two ponds, but most of the buildings were tall enough to almost reach the height of the gates. The house of Silver Fountains was easily picked out among them, bright waters catching the fading light. He could hear, just faintly, songs from the House of the Harp, shrieks of the occasional giant eagle or a smaller, more normal bird of prey, and the whistling wind. 

           The wind brought with it a cold, damp substance which he was delighted to realize was snow- it made the entire city pale, shining, and beautiful. The snow fell early in their mountain city and wouldn't melt completely until later in spring. The peace on top of the walls overcame him for a few moments before he shook the falling flakes from his golden mane and headed back down to the city below. ' _I should take Res up here one day,'_  he thought to himself. Surely the other elf would enjoy the peace and the view from the very top of the city. The only way to get a better view would be by going to the very top of the mountains themselves, and that was forbidden territory- a single watch-fire up there might announce their presence for miles around. Even in the dead of winter, watch fires were not allowed on the seventh gate, as it was the highest and the first one that an elf, man, or orc would see. It was also disguised, as best a high wall could, by leaving the very outer edge in carved rock, that it might look like an imposing cliff-face rather than a city. The walls were hard, and as much of the granite around the city was, smooth. However, there were many smooth, perilous granite cliffs in these mountains, so they did not look too entirely out of place. He sighed, and smiled to see his breath come out in pale puffs of air. As an elfling, he'd delighted in trying to breathe out shapes with his companions. They all, of course, swore that their own looked like recognizable things- ships, horses, trees- even though all had been roundish miniature clouds which faded quickly. He smiled anyway and made his way down the long, carving stairs.

           He visited another favored haunt of his- the training fields. Fields, perhaps, was an odd word for it. It was one large field, a set of barracks, and an indoor yard near an armory, and several of the prominent smiths made their livings nearby instead of at the main markets. The only smiths, in fact, who actually stayed in the the main or lesser markets were those who exclusively did household items, such as pots and pans, or jewelry. Shaking his head at his own distracted thoughts, he joined a small group of soldiers clad in white (likely Penlod's men) in a jog until he reached the main gates. Today, it seemed, was reserved for archers. As there was only one field, they usually took turns with men-at-arms, guards, and common soldiers. Lords such as he generally only took to the training fields if they did not have a weapons-master tutor at home or out of boredom. His case, a rare one, was that he had surpassed the weapons-master of his house early in life, and he occasionally visited to hone his skills. Few except for Lord Rog and Ecthelion were an able match, however, and even more rarely did anyone best him. 

           He walked quietly across the far side of the field, the rythmic 'thunk' and 'thump' of arrows hitting targets, and occasionally grass, accompanying him. He did not have to look to see who missed or if it was corrected- the sergeants on the field made it very clear in their loud voices. Behind the training field, barracks, and yard were the stables. His own horse was stabled in the lands belonging to his House, just as all mounts of lords were. These stables were reserved for those horses belonging to up-and-coming officers who had not yet found employment with a lord, or for wounded animals. There were other animals living in the stables, however, and it was for one of these that he made his way. 

           For a normal elf seeking a pet, it was easy enough to find a cat almost anywhere, but hounds were harder to come by. Those with disfigurements, or retired hounds, both of which their owners could not stand to have put down, were often given or sold to friends or family. Healthy hunting or war dogs, however, were harder to come by. As a Lord of Gondolin, he had several guard dogs on the grounds, and they were generally following any servant which fed them or traversing the house looking for a comfortable place to sleep. Usually, only male dogs were sold, and this was the case with his- one male might sire dozens of litters, but a female could only have one litter at a time, and thus the females were far more valuable. In fact, the only females which were commonly sold were those past breeding age, for that very reason. 

           He was greeted by the stable master himself with a low bow, which he returned by a nod of the head and was led to the very back of the stables towards the kennels. Erestor loved animals of all kinds, and hopefully he liked dogs. If not, well, he could always get into the dog breeding business. Judging by the new lightness to his pockets, it was very profitable. 

           He headed home after this to help the newest resident of his house settle in and give some of the kitchen servants likely unnecessary instructions as to the care of the animal. One of the braver cooks asked him if the dog had a name. He smiled and told her that the recipient of the gift would name it. After that, he left once more, taking care of odd tasks that he likely could have sent someone else to do; he'd been feeling cooped up lately and enjoyed the air on his face. 

           Afterwards, he was left with a dilemma. What else could he do? He supposed he could take a turn with the archers, but he disliked archery, even for use on a hunt. He would much prefer to take a sword to a wolf or a bear- something that could  _fight_ him- than take a bow to a deer from yards away. He decided against it and headed home. After all, there was a new guest who would likely enjoy the attention, and he  _did_ have that gift from the Princess to open. Curiosity hurried his steps, and he entered the House of the Golden Flower to a bustling household. After accepting a mug of hot mulled cider, he sat on the chair in his study, dog and gift in the same hand.

           His father's study had been assigned to the accountants and such that he'd hired from Erestor's recommendation, and he had converted one of the guest rooms into his own- he had found himself unable to do anything but think on the past when in his fathers'. His own had a simple cedar desk, three cedar chairs with upholstery, a few bookshelves, and a few large paintings as there were no windows. He sat the cider down and played with the new animal using a small rope toy until she seemed exhausted, and then allowed her to sleep in his lap. If she was anything like his own hounds, once she was only a few months older, she would be unable to do so. 

           He opened the gift then, and stared at it in confusion. There was no title on the side, front, or back, and the covers were blackest pitch. He flipped through a few pages- and promptly turned a shade of red to rival any which Erestor had teased him about. Of one thing he was certain; he would never be able to look at Idril the same again. 


	15. Wedding Gifts II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is a long one, but I hope you guys enjoy it! It was partially beta-read (mainly with the clothing descriptions), but there may be some mistakes. Please let me know if you see any, or what you think of the chapter! Fair warning, this rating WILL most likely be moving up. What I'll probably do is use a line-break before and after the explicit stuff, so if you don't want to read it, you can still read part of the chapter.

           It was only a week before the wedding, and to Erestor, it seemed that his and Glorfindel's relationship had become something illicit and scandalous; though they could previously have spent all day with one another with none or few comments, his time was now so monopolized by escape plans, wedding plans, teaching his brother the administrative parts of being a Lord, and various fittings that he was lucky to see Glorfindel for more than half an hour a day. 

           "I don't get this. At all." The fatigued admission brought his attention back to his own office, soon to be his brothers'. Ecthelion was staring in disgust at a relatively old agreement which basically stated how much land, and where that land was, for each house so that the Lords of Gondolin would not fight with one another over it. 

           He leaned over the back of his brother's chair. "Where are you lost?" He asked, scanning the document. 

           His brother groaned in irritation, and Erestor smiled. "Everywhere! Everywhere is where I am lost at. What does 'annexation' even  _mean_?"

           "Say your friend Galdor decided he wanted Lord Duilin's farms. If he had his men go over there with swords slashing and took the farms for his own, that would be a violent annexation. A peaceful annexation- the one your hand is next to," he gestured to the paragraph, "is what would happen if Galdor's son married one of Duilin's daughters, and Duilin gave him the farms as a dowry."

           Ecthelion let his head fall on his hand and groaned again. "How, exactly, am I expected to do this every day?"

           "Practice, practice, practice!" Erestor chirped and tugged the document out of willing hands. "Why don't you take a break from this one?" He asked, sensing an explosion from his older brother. Ecthelion looked up at him gratefully. 

           "Gladly. Can't I just hire people to do this?" He asked desperately, and Erestor couldn't stop his laugh. 

           "Some of it- the basic accounting, small disputes, you can hire accountants and lawyers for." He made a mental note to see who Glorfindel had hired and give Ecthelion the remaining names. "But the big things, or if people aren't satisfied by what your lawyers say, are things that you  _will_ have to deal with. My advice? Get a few good lawyers, a few accountants, learn some of this yourself so you can check their work every once in a while."

           "Check their work?" Ecthelion asked, snorting derisively. "Why would I do that- aren't they supposed to be experts?"

           "Yes, they are. But you never know when one is going to try to cheat you." He responded, and quickly backed up as Ecthelion rose and stretched. 

            "Ugh." Was his brother's eloquent response. "I'm going to go hit something with a sharp object- something I'm good at." His brother turned to face him and he added. "You'd better head down to mothers' forge, I think she wants to talk to you before the wedding."

           "Oh?" He asked curiously. "What about?"

           Ecthelion snickered and he knew immediately that he'd asked the wrong question. "Hopefully not about what that book was!" 

           "Ecthelion!" He cried, flushing brightly. "You see, this is why I don't like you in my things."

           The older elf cackled as he left the study, Erestor following close behind. "Why? Afraid your  _lover_  will bring you something illicit?"

           He smacked one of Ecthelions' shoulders, and the ache from his hand reminded him of why he'd started pinching and poking at his underarms and just under his ribs instead. "That was a gift from the Princess, thank you." Turnabout was fair play, and in that spirit, he added, "It's given Fin some ideas- me too."

           Predictably, Thel turned a lovely shade of green and made a disgusted noise. "Res! That's  _not_ something that I want to hear about."

           It was his turn to laugh as they headed downstairs, Ecthelion going out one of the side doors to their weapons and training room, and he following the curve of the hall to his mothers' forge. Some things, he decided, he would dearly miss once he no longer lived here. 

           The maudlin thought made him frown and slow his steps. Despite his words to Glorfindel a few weeks ago, and in ensuing conversations, nervousness was creeping up on him. Perhaps his brother was right? He was, after all, not yet at his majority. Plenty of elves- usually those in marital contracts, but a great many anyway- were married even earlier than he, although they often did not...consummate the marriage until later. The very idea brought images from that most embarrassing book up, and he flushed scarlet. 

           He took a moment to straighten his robes and shake the doubts from his head. He knew full well what he wanted- this was likely just the same nervousness he felt before stepping behind a podium for debates, as their wedding would be a large one. A very, very large one. He shuddered and knocked on the door to the forge. To his surprise, there was no answer, and the familiar sound of hammers and tongs and such was missing. He opened the door and found it as empty as it had sounded. Confused, he knocked on the door to the adjoining room, his mothers' bedroom. 

           "Enter!" She called, and he did so. He had seen more of this room in the past few weeks than he had in his entire life. The settling of cloth in the corner attracted his attention, and he saw just a hint of something in white before the sheet covered it. His mother adjusted it until it was satisfactory to her, and then turned to greet him. "It's finished." She said instead of a 'hello'.

           He grinned. "When can I see it?"

           She made a vague noise and gestured for him to take a seat on the bed. With a put-upon sigh, he did so, and she pulled something out of a box. Abruptly, her mood seemed to change, and she stared intently at the object.

           "Mother?" He asked quietly.

           She huffed and shook her head, one of the cords holding her braids together finally giving up and falling to the cool stone floor. Worried, he bent to grab it, but she shook her head once more. "No." She stated calmly, and he settled himself once more. "I have finished something else for you."

           He waited a moment, and she turned, presenting him with a shining circlet of some strange, shining metal. Topaz, the stone she usually used with anything for him, shone and dangled on the upper arches, delicately wrought like waves, and on the lower arches, cleverly-wrought flowers bore stones of crimson like new blood in their centers. "It's beautiful." He breathed, unaware that he had spoken.

           She turned one head in appreciation for his words, and sat beside him, circlet in hand. "I told your brother a story a while ago. And it is time that you heard it as well."

           And in the quiet of her rooms, she told him the tale of her marriage to his father, of the blessed and cursed stones, and then of the metal that went into the crown before him. "You were born on the Ice, my son, you do not remember Valinor- but this, this is mithril. Aule put much of it into the blessed lands, but only a very little in Arda, and more shall never be made on these lands." She reached up to straighten a fallen braid- one that had not yet fallen but did not meet up with her exacting standards- and then placed it upon his brow. Carefully, she measured with her fingers to make sure it was neither too loose nor too tight, and then sat back. She gestured to the mirror on the side of the wall, and he nervously stood. He had to wipe dirt and soot from it- it was rarely used- and when he did, he could only stare. 

           He swallowed and looked away. "Thank you."

           She nodded once more and stood. "You are welcome, my son- and I mean for more than the metal and stone upon your head. If this married life ends up being too much for you- I know, oh I know how it can be- you are  _always_ welcome home." There was a burning in his eyes, and tears in hers, and he had no compunction about burying his head in one broad shoulder as her arms came up around him. 

           They stood thus for a few minutes, and she cleared her throat. Still, she sounded slightly choked when she asked, "Shall we stay here all day, or shall we see if those robes I made you fit?"

           He took a deep breath and backed away from her. She glanced away politely and pretended not to see him wipe his eyes just as he did not acknowledge her bringing the shoulder of her loose tunic to her face, leaving with twin damp spots. She cleared her throat once more and prepared to tug the sheet from the mannequin.

           The sight almost stole another gasp from his lips. The under-robe and parts of the over-robe were all in white silk, but she had apparently decided to step away from tradition at that point. The high collar was made of a thick, ornate, silver band from which blue and crimson gems glinted on the ends of shining silver chains, no thicker than a few hairs. The pauldrons on the shoulders were made of braided white cloth with silvery dew-drops at the ends of the strings, and the silk itself had waves, waterfalls, and snowflakes embroidered upon it in a careful hand. "I had some help from the House tailor for the soft parts, of course. But all of the metal and stones I did by hand."

           Her voice caught his attention once more, and he looked at her in shock. "All of this- it's barely been over a month since we announced it!" 

           She smiled and gave him a slightly abashed look. "Well- I may have been working on it for a long while. I may also have one for your brother, without the cloth, of course- already done somewhere."

           He looked at her in surprise once more and laughed. "I should not be so surprised- you are a bit of a perfectionist."

           She snorted at him and slapped his arm lightly. "Yes, and out of the two of you, I can tell you who inherited it."

           He laughed once more, and trailed a hand across the back of it, surprised to find more hard material for the under-robe, or perhaps the tunic under it. 

           "You," she began pointedly, "have a terrible habit of wearing a robe with leggings and no under-tunic  _or_ you wear the over-robe without a robe under it! You will wear  _all_ of it for your wedding, if I have to stick you in them myself." He grinned and flushed a little. 

           "Yes mother."

           "Don't 'yes mother' me, try them  _on_."

           He huffed out another laugh, and then frowned in confusion. How, exactly was he supposed to get it  _off? "_ Bathing chambers." She stated, once more in her normal commanding tone. He did so, realizing what she was going at. He left the door open just a crack- hopefully enough for her to hand items of clothing through, and stripped. 

           The leggings, thankfully, were of a lightweight grey material, as was the embroidered tunic. Next was the white under-robe, and he found he'd been correct- the chest piece around his neck and shoulders, down to just below his ribs and mid-back was made of silver, wrought with waves and curves, and symbols he recognized as those of his mother's house. This normally would have been made of embroidered cloth, and he realized with a snort that if he wanted to be anything remotely  _close_ to comfortable, he would have to wear the tunic and leggings underneath. This particular robe was tailored quite a bit closer to his measurements than what he usually preferred, leaving little to the imagination. This, of course, meant that he would have to wear the over-robe as well, and he rolled his eyes at his mothers' scheming before taking the next piece of clothing. He attached the buckskin leather pieces for the pauldrons and then the pauldrons themselves without issue- this was just a far more fancy and delicate version of the set he had to wear as acting Lord when hearing council or complaints. The next was the over-robe itself, and it only went so far up his shoulders to attach to the base of the pauldrons, falling open in the middle. The sleeves went down to his wrists, and on the underside, continued a few inches past his hands. The robe trailed on the back, and he sincerely hoped it didn't trail quite as much as he thought it might. If it did, he might have to have someone pick up the train, and that was something he refused to do. The last came the heavy band, which actually covered the top part of the under-tunic and rested a little under his chin, mimicking a high collar. His mother came in to attach the little chains and gems, and he was confident that he could manage to take off the overdone material easily enough. 

           She looked him up and down, holding up a hand when he tried to move to the mirror in the other room. "Boots- you're not getting out of them this time." He had a tendency to value comfort over fashion, and rolled his eyes at her retreating back. "And don't roll your eyes at me!"

           He let out an exaggerated sigh, and she raised an eyebrow at him as she tossed a pair of buckskin boots, dyed white. "White boots?" He asked in disbelief, and winced at the look she gave him.

           "It's  _tradition_ , Erestor of the Silver Fountain, and you will wear them."

           He sighed again, kicked his comfortable shoes off, and had to lean against the wall to tug the boots on, thanks to the cuff which prevented him from looking down or bending forwards. Finally, he had those on, and stood marginally taller. He checked the back of his white outfit and was relieved to find that it only trailed a few inches. "Yes, yes, you hate trains. Come, see yourself." She said as if he  _hadn't_ tried to do so a few minutes ago. He bit back another sigh and followed her. He stared at himself for a moment and decided that he looked- different. Not bad, per se, but certainly in contrast to his usual attire. He was in a constant battle to avoid extra attention for anything that was not his scholarly pursuits, and this- well, it would certainly attract eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered if he could get away with telling Idril that he would have something small- the royal family if they wanted to come, of course, but only immediate family otherwise. 

           She leaned up to straighten the robes on his shoulders and tug some of his hair from the strands of silver in which they had tangled, and froze. The small smile told him that she had an idea, but before he could ask, she turned his face directly to the mirror. "Can you see what we see in you, my son?" She asked softly, and he stared intently at the reflection.

           "I think I do."

           She rested her head on the dip between his shoulders for a moment, and he covered one of her hands with his. "It will all turn out well," he said softly, "you'll see."

           His mother chuckled softly and wrapped her arms around him more firmly. "Isn't it  _my_  job to console you before you're married?"

           He released her hand and turned around to bury his nose in her hair. "We can switch places sometimes." He said with a smile, and then frowned. "How is Thel handling this? He seems to go in spurts of teasing me unmercifully and then ignoring the fact that I'm getting married."

           She sighed and released him, prompting him to do the same. "Well enough, I think. He fears, and rather stupidly, that you will simply disappear off the face of Arda and he shall never see you again."

           He shook his head and took his turn adjusting the collar about his neck and shoulders. "I would never do that!" Erestor exclaimed, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "What- what do you think I should do?"

           She brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and bent down to get the missing hair tie, and then proceeded to tug all of the beads and ties out of the dark mass of hair. "I'll talk to him later- you can have the first turn with him this time."

           He grumbled under his breath and proceeded to remove his circlet and unhook the chains from the collar, laying them out carefully on her dresser. She helped him unhook the pauldrons as he shed the outer robe, and then the large neck-piece, before removing the inner-robe. He laid these out on the bed under her direction before heading to the bathing chamber once more to don his comfortable robe and slippers, handing her the tunic and leggings once he left. "I suppose I'd better go find him, then." 

           She nodded, and then raised a finger. "Ah! I almost forgot. Has anyone told you exactly what happens on the wedding ni-"

           "Idrilgavemeabookloveyougoodbye!" He said hurriedly, practically running from the room, chased by his mother's laughter. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about  _sex_ with his  _mother_. 

           Still flushed, he trotted out to the weapons room where he found Ecthelion, slamming a dulled sword into an armor-clad training dummy. These particular dummies had gears and wheels in several joints and in the base so that it spun around when hit, and occasionally even hit back. He stood against the wall for a moment to clear his thoughts before calling to his brother. 

           The other elf turned to him, still panting. "Please don't tell me it is time to head back to your study."

           Erestor shook his head. "No, no, I think we may be done with that for now. I think mother has scared me from any further work today."

           His brother snorted and took a large rag from a bench, cleaning his sword of sweat and dust. He then sat down, whetstone in hand, and gestured for him to come sit. Erestor did so, musing that it had been a while since he'd been in here. He practiced regularly, as all in Gondolin were required to, but nothing like the near obsession that Ecthelion and Glorfindel both had. The familiar rasp of stone against metal soothed him for a moment before Ecthelion pulled him from his thoughts. "So how did she scare you? Jump out from a closet?"

           Erestor snorted. "Hardly. She decided, after trying on my wedding robes, that I just  _had_ to know-" He shook his head, deciding that perhaps, if he was going to get anywhere with his brother, it would be best not to alienate him further. "Well, let us say that your teasing earlier wasn't too far off."

           The elder of the two winced. "That's never fun. I take it it was terrifying?"

           Erestor rolled his eyes. "In the  _extreme_ , brother."

           They sat in silence for a few moments, only the soft rasp of the blade being sharpened and Ecthelion's harder than normal breathing breaking the silence. "What got you to come down here?" He asked, and Erestor blinked at the sound of his voice, willing distractions to disappear.  

           "I wanted to talk to you." He responded, and took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Thel- you know I'm still going to be your brother, right?" 

           Ecthelion's jaw worked for a moment before he sat down the whetstone, a little harder than necessary. "Yes, of course." He answered stiffly, and Erestor sighed.

           He dug his fingers viciously into the space between Ecthelion's bottom rib and spine, and predictably, Ecthelion yelped and leapt from the bench. "What was  _that_ for?!" He demanded angrily, leaning from side to side to get the cramping muscles to loosen. 

           "Just a reminder- I'm still going to be coming around, so don't become too lax. Just because I'm getting married doesn't get you a free pass." He stood with a smug smirk dancing on his lips, and left.

           "You are an  _ass,_ little brother." Ecthelion growled at him, and Erestor snickered. He left without further comment, but noticed a small smile dancing on his brother's lips. 

           ' _Good'_  he thought to himself, and once he was safely in the hall, called- "Oh, and Nuanca called- she wants someone to mind her mahogany, if you catch my meaning!"

           "ERESTOR!"


	16. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, it feels like forever (to me, at least) since I updated. I want to say that I am super sorry for leaving this gone so long, I just got slammed with work, a new semester, and the news that my Granny is dying. It's been a rough couple of months. 
> 
> But I am coming back, and I am NOT abandoning either Courting Mishaps or Archer's Notes. The new Courting Mishaps update is today, and you'll see Archer's Notes hopefully soon. I hope you guys are happy, because, as payment for my lateness, you get an 11 page chapter. As always, please read and review! 
> 
> There IS hot elf sex in this chapter. If you want to skip it, when you see the XXXXXXXX, stop reading until you see XXXXXXX again. It's kind of a long one, but it's my first lemon, so please be nice, and I love constructive criticism.

      If Erestor had thought he’d been banned from Glorfindel’s presence before, he had surely been over-exaggerating. Now, instead of just a few minutes a day, he hadn’t seen Glorfindel for the last few days, and now- now it was the day of his wedding.

      And Erestor was terrified.

      Ecthelion had apologized repeatedly for telling him about the elves who’d abandoned their weddings, and assured him that it would not happen to him, but all the reassurance in the world wasn’t quite enough at this point. Even his mother had spoken with him, and though Gilyā could almost always get through to him, he found no comfort in his mother’s voice. There was only one thing that could ease his fears, and that thing might or might not be standing in the palace’s Great Hall. After several arguments, he was completely dressed, including his circlet, and his hair was left completely free of braids, as tradition dictated. Tomorrow, they would reflect his status, not as the Lord of the House of Silver Fountains, but as that of the House of the Golden Flower.

      Everything was going to change.

      All of his clothing- except for his wedding robes, of course- and his books, and his odds and ends, and everything that made his room  _his_ had already been sent over in small amounts throughout the week. Today, he had woken up as Erestor of the Silver Fountain, and tonight, he would go to sleep as Erestor of the Golden Flower. And he would not sleep alone.

      He swallowed and sat on the edge of the chaise lounge in the private room of the palace and took a moment to get his breathing under control. He felt the cushions dip beside him and a heavy, muscular arm thrown over his shoulders. He leaned into his brother’s comforting bulk and then another thought occurred to him- if he had some moment of terror during the day or night, he could not simply go a few rooms over and occupy the chair beside his brother’s closet because, in some childish way, even if Ecthelion was asleep, he could, and would protect him. There was Glorfindel, of course, but he wasn’t the occasionally erratic, usually violent presence that his brother was.

      “You know,” Ecthelion began as his mother packed up the clothes he’d came in and sat on one of the free chairs, “We’ve been spending a long time today trying to persuade you that he will be there.”

      Erestor nodded. “It seems strange that, knowing him as well as you do, you doubt it. But-“He said sharply, cutting off any response before resuming the slow, comforting tone of voice, “If you do, little brother, there must be a reason. And so, I say it’s not too late to call it off.”

      The youngest in the room tensed and completely missed the enraged glare from his mother or the sly grin from his brother. “What are you talking about? Why would I call it off?”

      “Well,” he began, and cut off their mother with a raised finger, “if you’re so sure that he won’t be there, there’s no reason to continue with this.” He then continued in a conspiratorial whisper- “But what if he is? What if he is there, waiting for you and you just….never show up?”

      That earned him a dig just under his armpit, more painful than usual. “What madness do you speak? I won’t just leave him there! And he wouldn’t do that to me either.”

      Erestor realized what his brother had done and promptly hit him, hard as he could, in the back of his head. “Ow! Res, you’ve already abused- ow!” Another dig, this time to the space between his ribs, and Gilyā decided that her eldest had went through enough punishment for his almost disastrous words.

      “Erestor, stop.” She demanded, and promptly smacked Ecthelion as well before sitting down on his other side.

      “Ow!” The exclamation earned him another scowl from the both of them, and he subsided with a frown of his own.

      She promptly began to straighten the abused braids and his ceremonial robes he’d been forced to wear- Ecthelion  _hated_ robes- and spoke matter-of-factly. “Foolish as the attempt was, he is correct. Like it or not, if you still want to marry him, you have to show up. It’s a big crowd, and I don’t like it, but it’s this or explaining to him why you left him in front of almost the entire city.”

      He nodded and put his head in his hands. “It’s  _terrifying._ ” He corrected, and she knocked his hands away.

      “Don’t. You’ll leave marks.”

      He glared at his mother, Ecthelion glared at him, and his mother glared at the both of them for a moment before Ecthelion broke the silence with a snicker. Erestor glanced at him in surprise, and he disguised it as a cough. Within seconds, he was snickering again, and it grew into a full-grown belly laugh; the laughter was contagious, and they all joined in for a few moments before they faded into amused gasps. “What”, Erestor asked between chuckles, “was that about?”

      Ecthelion looked at him and promptly began to laugh again. “I don’t know!” He managed to gasp, and they were interrupted by a knock on the door. After lightly slapping both of their shoulders and wincing- she’d apparently forgotten about the metal- Gilyā answered the door to find an amused servant who’d likely heard the laughter.  The boy said something to her softly, and she nodded before closing the door again.

      This time, the laughter was over. “All right boys, get up!” She snapped, hauling Ecthelion to his feet as Erestor rose with moderate difficulty.

       One last once over with their clothing and hair, which ended in a tightened sash for Ecthelion and a minor adjustment of the pauldrons for Erestor, and they were out the door. Outside of the Great Hall, after climbing down a few sets of stairs, she stopped them again. Small, barely noticeable adjustments were made until Erestor said, “It’s fine, we have to go or we’ll be late.” She snorted at him but apparently decided against smacking him as it might cause something to move or become, in some other manner, less than perfect.

      They were off again, Gilyā, in a fine dress of blue silk with not a single patch of soot or dirt on her for once, leading the way. Erestor noticed with amusement that she still had a small amount of dirt underneath her nails. The doors to the Great Hall opened to reveal a large crowd and, thankfully, Glorfindel. He hadn’t been sure what he’d do if Glorfindel  _hadn’t_ been there, but it likely would have been terrible and ended with Glorfindel losing an important piece of anatomy.

      His great blonde buffoon was at the end of the Hall, and as they moved, Erestor took little notice of the crowd. His mother leaving his side with a pat on the hand was summarily ignored, and he only barely remembered to bow to the King once they’d arrived. He  _did_ notice that Glorfindel’s hair, usually free of braids except for the one down the sides showing his house was completely free of them, and how he was staring, and how, oddly enough, he didn’t particularly mind the latter.

      Turgon cleared his throat and started in some diplomatic thing- Erestor had been to weddings before, he knew how they went. He cleared his mind and only barely managed to tear his eyes from Glorfindel’s when the King gestured for them to take one another’s hands. Judging by the slightly guilty look, Glorfindel had been listening just about as much- that is, not at all.

      And then vows. The King seemed a little hesitant about who should begin first, as it normally went husband to bride, and Erestor was grateful for the extra time. He knew what he was going to say, but, as they are wont to do, words escaped when Glorfindel was around. Glorfindel was gestured to, and he spoke first after clearing his throat. “I-“ There was silence in the hall, and it seemed to unnerve him, so Erestor gave his hands a friendly squeeze, reminding him that he was, in fact, promising this to Erestor, and not all of Gondolin. “I’m sure that anyone can tell you I am terrible at words, and I find myself unable to create words as you do.”

      He took a deep breath. “You are the moon to my sun, and you  _are_ the most beautiful star in the night sky.” Erestor felt the dry, callused hands tighten on his own. “But that is just what’s on the outside. You are kinder than anyone I’ve ever met, smarter, and wittier, and if I could make you smile every day, I would consider myself blessed, even if I lost everything else.” Another nervous swallow, and the blonde seemed to force himself to slow down and speak at a slightly faster-than-normal rate. “I promise to laugh with you, cry with you, and be loyal to you. I will love you when we are together and when we are apart. I promise to support your dreams and to respect our differences, and to love you and be by your side through all the days and nights of our lives.”

      Erestor felt his eyes burning, and his promise to himself that he would  _not_ cry at his own wedding seemed to be falling to the wayside. He was gestured to speak and inhaled sharply before doing so. “You’re going to make me cry at my own wedding.” He said with a smile, and Glorfindel grinned, slightly lopsided. He noticed that Glorfindel’s eyes seemed a bit watery as well, and shook his head to clear it. “I have written them a thousand times and in a thousand different ways, and none seem to come out right.” He took another breath and reminded himself that this was just between him and Glorfindel- other people were witnessing, of course, but they did not matter in this moment.

      “Before I loved you, you were my best and closest friend. And I promise you this- I have seen and heard and read about many who grew apart, and I swear to you now that, no matter what may happen, I will  _always_ be your friend. I love you unconditionally, and that too, will never change. I vow to love you, encourage you, trust you, and respect you throughout all the ages of Arda, even after we sail, if we choose to do so. Together, we will build a life far better than either of us could imagine alone. I accept you as you are, and I offer myself in return. I will care for you, stand beside you, and share with you all of life’s adversities and all of its joys from this day forward, and all the days of my life. What may come, I will always be there, each one believing that love never dies. As I have given you my hand to hold, so I give you my life to keep.”

      And Turgon spoke again, asking if anyone had any objections- silence reigned. And half-way through the King requesting Eru to bless their binding and telling them to kiss, their mouths were already meeting. There was quite a bit of clapping, but Erestor found himself unable to care.

      Afterwards, there was music and dancing, and he was grateful to be off of the large constructed stage- the musicians had taken their places, and he promptly decided he would  _never_ be a musician. It took too much bravery.

      “You know, I was frightened you wouldn’t be coming for a few moments. You were  _late_ for once.” The words were said with a smile- the kind of smile one gets when something horrifying that might pass has been eating at them for a long time, and then proven completely false.

      Erestor returned the smile as they turned, a little closer than propriety might dictate, but propriety be damned. “I may have been a bit busy being terrified of what would happen if I showed up and you- you weren’t there at all.”

      The blonde pressed a firm kiss to his lips before responding. “I would  _never_ do that. Love you too much.”

      The dark-haired elf chuckled. “Yes, as I know you would never leave me waiting- but oh, it was terrifying.” He returned the quick brush of lips and added, “And I love you too.”

      Glorfindel hummed and made sure to pull him  _far_  closer than what they should be. “And what say you to us leaving?”

      Erestor grinned and, unable to meet his husband’s eyes thanks to the metal collar, buried his head in the white and gold ceremonial robes. “I would be interested in that- if you can get us out without drawing a crowd.”

      Another hum- and how he mourned not being able to  _feel_  that sound before he heard it- and Erestor was promptly spun around as their dance mandated. “I think I might not be able to do that- you’re very shiny, my love.”

      The dark haired elf sighed and laid his head down more comfortably on his shoulder. “I suppose we ought to just- damn them and go anyway?”

      The blonde laughed softly, and the burst of warm air against his ear made him shiver. Glorfindel did so again without any sort of shame, and Erestor pinched his side, finding only cloth. “You know they’re waiting for it- too much longer, and we might be teased about being afraid of the night ahead.”

      Erestor frowned at that though the teasing tone had been playful. “I’m not-  _scared_ , just- not experienced at this whole thing.”

      Glorfindel tugged him close again, and brushed his lips against his brow. “If it makes you feel any better, neither am I.”

      He considered it for a moment. “Yes, actually, just a little. Think there’s an opening by the side doors.”

      Glorfindel widened in a mischievous smirk, and he knew immediately he would  _not_ be a fan of whatever his husband had planned. “Or we could always go through the front door.”

      "Just married or not, Fin, I will hit you."

      The blonde allowed one hand to drift a little lower than necessary, and Erestor smoothed his hands over strong shoulders to grab a small lock of hair and tug none-too-gently. He hissed and gave up trying to make his new mate turn as red in public as Erestor often did to him. "Side door?"

      The dark haired elf smiled innocently, and the older elf raised an eyebrow. "Table." Erestor breathed on his lips, and Glorfindel barely recognized the command. He blinked but obediently moved with his new mate who slipped something up one of his sleeves with a smirk. Glorfindel grinned- it had been a while since Erestor pulled one of his city-wide famous pranks. Of course, the scholar was only very rarely caught. 

      "What do you have there, my lovely one?" The older elf teased with a smile. 

      Erestor turned back to him and took one of his hands with the free one. "Oh, nothing. What do you know, we're almost there!" They were, indeed, near one of the doors near the side of the hall, but Glorfindel did not believe that Erestor had nothing in his hands, not for a moment. His suspicions were proven when he reached across the blond elf's side for a moment and tossed something that was...squeaking?

      "Rat. Time to run." He drawled playfully, and as if on queue, a young lady in the middle of the hall screamed and lept into her date's arms. Within seconds, they were in the middle of the adjoining hall, both laughing too hard at the sounds of chaos to truly run. 

      Suddenly, the painted flagstones gave way to plain granite and stone, and the two attempted to sneak past a pair of guards. Guards who cheerfully waved. Before Glorfindel could begin to snap at them about the obvious jug of strong-smelling liquor while on duty, Erestor jerked his arm to the awaiting carriage. Glorfindel needed not worry, as a laughing Galdor left next. Though muffled by the sound of horses hooves, they both heard him clearly; "The newlyweds escaped without the proper amount of embarrassment! Have you seen- Is that WHISKY WHILE ON DUTY?!"

      Glorfindel joined him in his laughter, and somehow a chilled hand found its' way under the hem of his leggings, dragging up his calf. The laughter was quieted considerably once he was pinned in between the leather seat of the carriage and Glorfindel's bulk. Erestor quite happily attached their mouths and started to work on the buttons of the thick golden robe that the other elf wore, and if either of them lived across the city, they might have had some explaining to do to the owner of the carriage. As it was, after Glorfindel had hauled up one of his legs to rest on his hip, Erestor was unceremoniously freed as the vehicle came to a sudden stop, causing Glorfindel to roll off with a rough "oof!"

      The silver-eyed elf very nearly ended up on top of him, but managed to sit up. He offered Glorfindel a hand, and together they left, the blonde giving the coachman a wave. They entered quietly- that was, until every dog in the House of the Golden Flower began to loudly greet them seemingly at once. They were ambushed by the furry animals, and even after heads were scratched and bellies were rubbed, were followed up the stairs until Glorfindel shut the door on them. Erestor cackled and Glorfindel gave him a small abashed look. "They're not quite used to being alone all day." He offered in explanation.

      Erestor wrapped his arms about his soon-to-be husband's neck and assuaged his worry by sending a curious tongue to explore a willing cavern. The room was nearly silent once the assorted animals seemed to decide they were not getting in for more attention, and the only noises were the wet smacking of lips, gasps, and the occasional muffled moan.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

      Hands resumed exploration as well, and Erestor grunted into their joined mouths once the back of his knees hit the large bed. The most recent kiss was broken as he allowed himself to be lowered, one of Glorfindel's hands on his lower back, the other on the bedspread, and he dug his fingers into the comfortable mix of cotton, wool, and animal fur. After moving backwards on the bed so that he wasn't hanging off, which seemed to frustrate Glorfindel judging by the whines he received every time he shifted out of those arms, they both ceased.

      They stared at one another for just a moment before Glorfindel moved upward to cover him, elbows on either side of his head, and then they broke apart once more. Glorfindel frowned, and Erestor bit one of his swollen and bruised lips nervously, hoping he hadn't messed this up. Glorfindel caught the expression and was quick press quick, chaste kisses on his lips. "I was just-" He cleared his throat to rid it of the roughness it seemed to have obtained, "Wondering how to get that off."

      Erestor rolled his eyes and playfully tugged on a lock of golden hair. "Might be able to help you with that." He found his voice was unexpectedly rough as well, and he delighted in the darkening of those blue eyes. 

      The dark haired elf swallowed, terror and nerves and excitement and love all churning together unpleasantly in his stomach, and sat up. Glorfindel moved backwards with him until he was kneeling beside Erestor's thighs, and Erestor began to unhook the chains about his collar. He felt Glorfindel's hand move over his and froze for a heartbeat before he realized that, far from stopping him, Glorfindel was unhooking the difficult to reach ones from the back of his neck. The blonde took them and laid them out almost reverently on the small drawer set near his-  _their_ \- bed. A callused thumb traced along his cheekbones and he welcomed its' twin on one of his ears with a pleased sigh. He closed his eyes, and allowed his hands to finish their previous job of unbuttoning Glorfindel's robe as the blonde returned the favor, his lips taking the place of his hands on Erestor's sensitive ears. 

      Soft gasps and little moans were pulled from him, and once he'd gotten the final button undone, he hurriedly pushed the robe over wide shoulders. Glorfindel pulled back long enough to allow the robe to fall to the bed and tug his tunic off, and Erestor shed both the thin silk over-robe and the pauldrons. He made a frustrated noise as Erestor, curious as ever, stroked long, pale fingers over a tanned chest and back. He made a questioning noise, and Glorfindel backed up a little more to start undoing the actual collar. "How much clothing do you  _have_?"

      Erestor smirked and pushed firmly on the nude chest. The blonde obediently allowed himself to fall back. "Too much." Erestor answered and tugged the material from under his knees so that he could pull it over his head. His warrior growled at the sight of the tunic underneath and roughly tugged it off, rolling them over in the same motion. Uncaringly, the black haired elf set to following the path his hands had made with his mouth, enjoying the strangled gasps that came from an ear-tip, barely smothered giggles from the side of a tapered waist, and desperate moans that were brought out when his mouth found and hungrily teased a set of nipples, occasionally switching back and forth. 

      He bit down on one of the now-hard nubs and let out his own moan when his mate thrust his hips downward, grinding erections together. Glorfindel pressed his not inconsiderable bulk on Erestor's chest, forcing the other elf to lay down flat, and he repeated the rolling of his hips until he wrung gasping entreaties from Erestor's lips. Hungrily, he devoured Erestor's lips and the two of them moved, synchronized, until the pressure of leggings became far too tight. The blonde tried to rise and pull them off, but a set of arms prevented him from doing so. He settled for kicking off his boots and tugging Erestor's off, tossing them to fall unheeded until the following day. 

      He managed to fall back on his ankles, bringing Erestor to sit on his lap, and hurriedly tugged at the ties to their only remaining articles of clothing. Panting, Erestor moved off of him and slid out of his own like some sensuous snake and pressed him down once more, this time against pillows, and assisted him in removing his own. The sensation of skin against sweat-slickened skin was wonderful, and they writhed together, knocking off blankets and Glorfindel's long-forgotten robe. It was only when Glorfindel yet again rolled them over and reached for the nightstand once more, hurriedly opening drawers, that Erestor managed to clear his mind again to speak. "How do you want to do this?" He rasped, unable to stop his hand from following the curve of a spine. 

      Glorfindel must have found whatever he was searching for, judging from the triumphant little noise. "I don't care- just as long as we do." He responded desperately, and attacked his neck with lips and tongue, occasionally sucking out marks that would proudly proclaim what had happened to any who cared to look. 

      Erestor let out little gasps and sighs and decided that it didn't particularly matter to him either. He was, however, aching, and he allowed his legs to open in an invitation that Glorfindel took. They were quiet again for a moment, dizzy with arousal as Erestor tugged the circlet from Glorfindel's hair and then released his own. 

      There was a soft 'pop!' from his side, and he dimly recognized the scent of lavender. Glorfindel's hands left him, and Erestor whined at the loss. They were promptly returned, and he tensed as he felt something slick press up to his entrance. "Relax, Res." The blonde breathed against one ear. "I'm going to try not to hurt you."

      He swallowed and released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He allowed his fingers to dig into Glorfindel's shoulders, took a few deep breaths, and nodded. Hadn't those books that they'd been given said something about that as well? He moved his hips a little to get more comfortable and focused entirely on breathing in and out. The tip of that finger pressed in again, and he kept carefully relaxed. He bit his lip when he was breached, and warm kisses were peppered across his collarbone and up to his lips. 

      "I'm okay." He reassured the other elf, forcing himself to stay still, to keep from moving away from the strange intrusion. He twitched a little when that finger moved around a little and he tugged Glorfindel down to distract himself with sloppy, wet kisses. There was a moment of tension, and then the kiss was broken with a gasp as another finger pushed past the ring of muscle and into him. 

      Glorfindel moved against him, and his voice was rough with arousal and a  _hunger_ which sent a thrill through the dark-haired elf. "Still good?" He rasped, gasping when he accidentally ground his shaft against one of Erestor's thighs. 

        The burn was decidedly unpleasant, and the stretch was uncomfortable, but Erestor nodded anyway. The blonde was moving his appendages around, opening his entrance further, and occasionally thrusting in. His fingers dug into Glorfindel's shoulders again, this time not in pain, as he arched his back with a cry. Immediately, Glorfindel stilled. "Do you need me to st-"

      "Do that  _again!_ " Erestor demanded, thrusting his hips downward to try and meet exploring digits. 

      The blonde's eyes darkened, nearly indigo now, and he obeyed, relishing in the moans and gasps he wrought. Unable to resist, he pressed himself more firmly against his mate and nudged up a sharp chin to devour the pale column of Erestor's neck. Erestor eagerly turned his head, exposing more of his flesh. Another finger pressed into his tight entrance just as Glorfindel decided he needed to attack his ears again. Unlike the playful, gentle kisses of before, the blonde sucked the tip of an ear into his mouth, nibbling none-too-gently before moving down to the lobe and switching over to the other ear. 

      The desperate, hungry cries earned a low growl, wrenching a wanton moan from Erestor's throat as he arched up again. "Need you." Glorfindel panted, rocking his heavy arousal against a pale hip. Erestor let out a ragged gasp and arched up again. 

      "Then-" He gasped- " _take_ me." Glorfindel made a pleading noise at the suggestion, and then those fingers were gone, seeking the oil once more. Erestor whined at the loss, and sat up a little to see Glorfindel coating his erection in oil. The head was a delicious-looking purple, and the entire organ was swollen. The liquid dribbling from the head mixed with the oil, and his view was removed when Glorfindel settled himself in between his legs. A thrill of nervousness sent shivers down his spine- was  _that_ about to go inside him? He'd felt unpleasantly stretched by 3 fingers; what was this going to do to his insides? 

      The blonde placed warm lips on the patch of skin just over his heart, and Erestor found himself being stared at by a pair of darkened blue eyes. His left hand, still dry, rubbed soothing circles against his thigh. "Are you sure?" His golden warrior asked, and Erestor nodded, forcing himself to relax again. One of Erestor's hands found its' way to Glorfindel's oily one, twining their fingers together. With his other hand, Glorfindel adjusted his hip, and pressed forward. 

     There was a sudden, painful twinge as his entrance was opened up far more than it had ever been before, and the dark-haired elf bit down on his lower lip. The burning ache continued as Glorfindel pressed in inch by inch until their hips met. He stilled then, and Erestor allowed his head to fall to the pillow. Glorfindel buried his head between shoulder and neck, nibbling and licking red and purple marks, while his left hand rubbed soothing circles on a wide hip. Erestor took a few more breaths, focusing on the teasing lips and callused hand rather than the burn between his legs, and cleared his throat after a few moments. “You can move now.” He whispered into the shell of a pointed ear, just before giving it a playful nip.

     Glorfindel groaned and began rolling his hips, retreating a little and coming back to that welcoming heat much like the tides. Or, at least, what Erestor could _remember_ of tides. He found that the pain was passing bit by bit and sighed his pleasure into Glorfindel’s lips. The older elf took this as his cue, and began pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in. Erestor sunk his teeth into the skin just below Glorfindel’s ear, wrenching out a broken moan and was promptly slammed into hard enough to jar the breath from his lungs. The blonde found his lips again as they tried to find a rhythm and realized he’d found what had pleased Erestor so much earlier when sharp nails clawed at his back, and his mate arched up to meet him. This drew groans from them both, and Glorfindel adjusted his aim to hit _there_ every time- or, at least, he tried to.

     The room echoed with harsh gasps and hurried demands for _more_  and _faster_  and _harder_  and all conscious thought faded. Somehow, one of Erestor's legs ended up over his shoulder, and the blonde began seeing spots and sparks before his eyes. Clumsily, he reached down between their bodies and took Erestor in hand, stroking them both to a dizzying completion. They stayed like that for a few moments, a tableau of intimacy, before Erestor regained some semblance of self-control and moved his leg off of the blonde's shoulder. Glorfindel released his now flaccid organ and shifted so that they were barely a hand apart, Erestor's arms about his waist, Glorfindel leaning on his elbows. He rested his forehead on Erestor's shoulder, and one of those pale hands with long, dexterous fingers began to work its' way gently through golden locks.  

     ' _I love you.'_  Erestor smiled in response, throat still hoarse, and pressed his lips against Glorfindel's brow in an oddly chaste kiss. Glorfindel looked up at him, pleased but slightly confused, and they both grumbled as the blonde slipped out of his entrance. Glorfindel nuzzled the point of a jutting collarbone and mumbled, "What was that for?"

     Erestor let out a little raspy chuckle, and responded, "Because I love you too." ' _Dolt.'_

     The blond made a displeased noise and rolled to lay on one side of his mate's prone form. "That's not what you said a few minutes ago." He boasted with a smug grin. Erestor smacked his chest, but there was no heat behind it. 

     "What are you talking about?" He teased, figuring that Glorfindel was aiming for a little more attention. "I've told you I love you several times today." He glanced at the window and corrected himself. "Tonight."

     Glorfindel's confusion was back, and he lay on one side to better observe his lover. "Mm, but you haven't called me a dolt. Almost miss it- It's not really you if you're not calling me an idiot." ' _What is he getting at?'_

     Erestor blinked at him, and then snorted, rolling his eyes. "Of course." He drawled, berating himself for missing the obvious.

     "Don't call yourself an idiot, melme, that's my job." The blonde leaned down to capture another kiss, which was gladly surrendered. 

     Erestor huffed out a little laugh, unable to resist the urge to drag his nails all the way from his mate's rib down to the indentation that led to- something that apparently wanted his attention. "Lips weren't moving." He stated, playfully massaging the rapidly hardening length. "Already?"

     Glorfindel groaned. "I don't know what you mean, but _yes_."

     "Uh-uh-uh!" He teased, placing both hands on his mate's chest and pushing the blonde on his back. "Not until you figure it out."

     The blonde whined plaintively. "Figure _what_  out?"

     Erestor felt a thrill of heat as Glorfindel gnawed on his lower lip, as he so often did when he was struggling with a problem or nervous. Hungrily, he bent down and bit into it himself, none too gently, before laving it with his tongue. Glorfindel seemed to approve, if the mewling sound was any indication. The younger of the two moved to nibble, suck, and lick at the point of a jaw, just underneath his ears, and had to brace his knee on the bed to keep from being bucked off. "Hmm- our lips weren't moving." He said again, in the same nonchalant tone he might use to talk about the weather. "But we can hear one another. Why?" He fought not to think of the answer, which was rather easy; Glorfindel provided a convenient distraction.

     "I-I don't" He gasped out, arching again. " _Res-_ just-"

     The dark haired elf blew on the sore, wet spot he'd left, drawing out a low moan and a hushed " _please"_. "Mmm. Tempting. I _could_ , I suppose. But what do I get in return?" He moved lower, tracing an Adam's apple with his tongue. To his amusement, it jumped several times under his ministrations.  

     The blonde arched again, Erestor following him to deny any contact. Frustrated, Glorfindel snarled, and Erestor felt a shiver run through him. "You didn't answer me, Fin." He reprimanded, stopping to flick a nipple with his tongue before sinking his teeth into that as well. 

     Glorfindel writhed, fingers digging into silky dark locks and fine sheets. Erestor simply smiled and traded for the other side of his chest. "What-", the blonde panted, arching again, "Whatever you _want_ , don't t-tease!" 

     As much as Erestor enjoyed his begging- and he certainly did- he _had_  promised to get on with it. ' _Hand me the oil._ ' He demanded, smirking when Glorfindel obeyed with shaky limbs. "Figured it out yet?" He asked once the bottle was in hand.

     Glorfindel simply groaned in frustration and thrust his hips up. This time, Erestor allowed it, and his blue-eyed mate nearly wept in relief at the delicious friction. Erestor popped open the bottle and thought for a moment. Glorfindel inside of him had felt _wonderful_ , of course, but he _had_ been promised anything. With that in mind, he kissed and licked down the strong planes of a chest and belly, making sure to tease his bellybutton on the way. Glorfindel nearly choked him the moment a slick tongue brushed against the top of his erection, and he quickly coated his fingers in the liquid. One finger teased the entrance, and Glorfindel accepted him easily. Erestor raised an eyebrow as he popped the head of Glorfindel's length into his mouth. ' _Seems like you're already ready for me.'_  He teased, still amused at how Glorfindel managed to ignore the obvious. 

     The golden head was tossed back in pleasure as he was manipulated, and Glorfindel found himself unable to respond. ' _Practice makes perfect.'_  The blonde shot back amidst unintelligible sounds.

     Erestor hummed around the organ in surprise, wrenching a cry from his mate. He began to move his head up and down, just a little at a time, and pushed in a second finger to assist. Soon, with no objection from the Lord of the Golden Flower, a third joined them, and his own length pressed up against the ring of guardian muscles. "One last chance." Erestor panted out. "Have you figured it out yet?" Of course, he fully intended to claim his mate whether he'd figured it out or not, but Glorfindel didn't need to know that. Oh, the joys of an Elven bond. Too late, Erestor tried to stop the thought- their game was just getting started.

     "Elven bond!" He crowed, and Erestor rolled his eyes. 

     "I'm not sure that it counts," he began, and Glorfindel whined again, grinding against him. ' _Oh, screw it.'_  He thought, skin tingling, and snorted at Glorfindel's response: "About time!" Within a few moments, he was sheathed completely, and they moved together towards a completion once more. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

     The sky had begun to lighten by the time Elven endurance had given out to exhaustion, and dawn found them asleep in one another's arms. Despite his fears, he slept well, though he was no longer alone. And, he hoped, he never would be alone again. 


	17. Broken heart; Broken body; Broken soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Valaraukar- Quenya name for Balrog.   
> A/N: I just want to thank you- all of you- for sticking with me for this. It's been a long journey, but the time has finally come to end this. It's time to say goodbye to some of the favorite characters- but don't worry, there will be bits and pieces of sequels in A-Z Lord of the Rings and in other stories. I'm sorry if I make you cry with this one; if it makes you feel any better, I did too.   
> Next up: Confession time- Romance really isn't my forte. Political intrigue and violence are things I'm fantastic at writing, but as an asexual person, I sometimes feel as if I don't get the romance part of things communicated correctly. Please let me know if you have any constructive criticism, and what you think of the story! I will always read your reviews and reply to them.

                Erestor and Glorfindel spent the next five days in that bed, only getting up long enough to do necessary things such as visit the privy, pick up and put down the trays of food left outside their door, and on occasion, to take a bath. This was one of those occasions, both doing little more than reclining in the hot water after a quick wipe-down with a soapy rag. Eventually, they moved to washing and then combing one another’s hair- and wasn’t that odd? After the first teasing round of lovemaking, brought on by the realization that they were well and truly bound now, things had indeed been strange. They’d both been warned, of course, but knowing about something and experiencing it were two very different things. More than once, Erestor had found himself spouting some terrible pun or pulling on Glorfindel’s robes, which he nearly drowned in. It was quite comical when Glorfindel got himself stuck one day, only realizing after he’d trapped his shoulders that he was wearing the wrong robe, his arms stuck behind him. Ever the doting mate, Erestor had helped him out of it, of course- after taking advantage of a still-nude Glorfindel who lacked the ability to grab onto him. Strangely, Glorfindel found that he didn’t particularly mind.

                This was not all good, however. Sometimes, Glorfindel would wake panting because of a nightmare of a great warg chasing him; he, however, had never been chased by one. Erestor, who had always loved the ice and snow more than any other Noldor thanks to his birth on the Grinding Ice, woke more than once with a feeling of deep fear and unabiding hatred of all things ice and snow. 

                Despite the occasional sleeplessness, which didn’t particularly bother either of them, they were quite content. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end; Glorfindel had his duties, Erestor had to set about establishing his own, and they would have to visit the Princess soon. She had announced the wedding as a private way of saying they had about two months left; now there was only one, and they were already almost a week into it. The most of their work was done, leaving only the tasks of informing the populace and telling King Turgon that they’d went behind his back for the safety of their people. Somehow, they both doubted that the King would be particularly happy about that.

                They rose from their bath, shaking off darkening thoughts like droplets of water, and Glorfindel found himself with a brush in one hand and a lock of hair the color of the deepest evening sky in the other. He allowed himself to become distracted by the task that, upon himself, was discouragingly mundane, and yet on his mate was something quite new. Almost out of habit, he began copying the strands that marked Erestor as a second-son, Lord of the house of Silver Fountains, and unmarried. He decided to leave the first two, but undid the third and added a few more: ‘ _married, Lord of the Golden Flower, wise’_. Almost as a tease, he tied it all together with a love knot- the exaggeratedly complex one used by the more-than-slightly over-dramatic. Erestor snorted at him when he saw it, and playfully elbowed him in the gut.

                They traded places, and Glorfindel’s hair took quite a while longer to do. Most elves had long, straight, smooth hair, much like Erestor’s, only varying in color. Some, like Erestor’s mother, had a few waves, but Glorfindel- of course, he would have to work his way through the most curly, tangled mane in the history of Arda. The younger elf had to leave eventually to get some hair oil- he’d wondered why the blonde had to use it, but he knew now without a doubt. “You-“ he began in a pseudo-serious tone, “are going to sleep in a braid- a nice long one that doesn’t allow your hair to mat like this.”

                Glorfindel simply smiled as Erestor continued to work his way through, occasionally wincing when he encountered a larger-than-usual tangle. Once he’d finished his work, Glorfindel’s hair lay in deceptively easy golden curls, and he honestly debated leaving it like that; Glorfindel disliked braids anyway. Normally, the blonde would encourage him, but he simply heaved a put-upon sigh. “You’d just pull it out when we returned to bed.” He said, finally responding to the other elf’s previous words. “What am I going to be wearing?” He asked, continuing to lean on a wiry chest.

                Erestor hummed a little, and Glorfindel smiled at the little tickling vibrations. He then winced when Erestor went at his still-tender head once more. “I think,” he began, “something simple.” Glorfindel’s lip twitched- Erestor was too much like his mother. What was ‘ _simple_ ’ to him was exceedingly complicated to almost everyone else. He had no doubt he’d be unable to replicate whatever he was about to do without a few decades of practice. They both smiled at the thought that bubbled up then: they would certainly have decades, centuries, probably even millenia to practice. There were the simple four-strand braids on the sides of his head, marking him as a warrior, followed by the ones that marked him as a Lord and wed. He lost track of where Erestor's fingers went after that; they danced like dragonflies on a still pond, and now that there were no more tangles, those hands were gentle and kind. 

                Afterwards, they went through the motions of dressing, and, ' _Erestor, do you have anything but blue?'_ was answered with, ' _I had green once, but I had it burned. What about you- anything but yellows and blues?'_ Erestor ended up in a set of golden and navy robes, with his wedding circlet sitting proud on his brow, while Glorfindel ended up in a red velvet tunic and his customary buckskin leggings. Erestor was pleased he'd managed to talk him out of the purple one with more embroidery and buttons than there was cloth. "But it's my good ceremonial one!" The blonde had objected, and he was promptly answered with, "It's certainly ceremonial, but I've yet to find anything good about it." There was only one issue that day- Glorfindel forgot to put on his boots, even after he was wearing his cloak, but that was a common problem with him, and it went unnoticed. What did _not_  go unnoticed was a hideously puffed up purple tunic, torn in half on the ground. The young maid who cleaned their rooms privately thought it a turn for the better. 

                The sun was just peeking in the sky, and clouds were puffy with soon-to-fall snow when they left their warm den. Erestor was almost painfully cheerful; he was the epitome of a morning Elf, and whilst Glorfindel was still fighting off the occasional yawn and the urge to shed his bear-skin cloak and curl up in their bed once more. Erestor was humming cheerfully enough. He'd intended to start off in the Greater Markets, where he would doubtlessly find the necessary ingredients for his own forge (he'd made Glorfindel promise him, as a wedding gift, to have one built; his mother wasn't the only smith in the family, after all), but one look at the older elf's still sleepy and slightly grumpy features told him that he would not be able to go there without a fight- or a leash, perhaps. 

                Erestor knew what he needed, and automatically headed to those merchants; blacksmiths, mostly, but the architects quarter, those builders of Gondolin and every building in it, were not too far away. The golden-haired elf got a cup of a strong cider, sweetened with honey mead, and began to feel more himself. He glanced up and found Anor was at a more respectable height, and wondered to himself how he was going to function, rising at such an early hour every day. Unbidden, Erestor's commentary met his- they were still unused to the idea that their private thoughts were often not as private as they once were. ' _I'll get out of bed earlier than you, always, sleepyhead. But I won't wake you until a little later.'_  He promised. The two of them had argued often enough before being married that the argument that had began earlier today about wake-up times didn't disturb them too much. It had just become rare to _finish_  an argument- and by now, Erestor had realized just why Glorfindel loved provoking him so much. ' _I swear I will beat you, Glorfindel.'_

                The blonde smiled into his mug. ' _Promise?'  
_

                Erestor turned back from his just-ended conversation and gave him a pointed look of exasperation, badly-hidden amusement, and wondering adoration. The Golden elf smiled; then again, it was rather difficult _not_ to smile with his mate on his mind. Erestor rolled his eyes. ' _Sap.'_  But his own smile had grown just a little, and there was a flush on those pale cheeks. Erestor stole a sip of his cider whilst Glorfindel pretended to object, and they found themselves soon at the large building marked 'Architects'. The dark-haired elf had barely reached for the door when they heard a cry of alarm. They glanced up, only to find Laquilassë **,** bloody and panting. "Under attack!" The shout rang, and the early-rising community suddenly fell into a panic. Glorfindel jerked his mate away from the Architects building, Erestor following whilst hanging on to his mate's odd sense of calm. People milled uncertainly around the marketplace, and the noise was deafening; each elf wanted to know what was going on, and none had any answers. Glorfindel ran them up the palace stairs, and Erestor felt uneasy. There had been no guards on duty. They entered unquestioned, and when Glorfindel stopped, uncertain now of what to do, Erestor took the lead, slipping through back hallways he'd learned during his time at the connected university. Soon, they ran into a pair of terrified guards who seemed relieved to find them. They were ordered in no uncertain terms to head to the war room, and made their way there quickly. No one, it seemed, had any answers for them as well, but Erestor felt dread, like a dead weight, fill his stomach. The Fall had come early this year. 

                In the war room, they found, unsurprisingly, the King and the other Lords of Gondolin standing around a podium with several maps. They were shocked, however, when they realized it included _all_  of the Lords of Gondolin- including Ninquaion and Maeglin. 

                "What's happening?" Glorfindel demanded in a completely serious and so completely abnormal manner. 

                It was ever-kind Duilin who answered first. "We're under attack. We've got reports of entire battalions of orcs and goblins at our gates, and-" he hesitated, and Turgon finished it off for him. "Fire-drakes, too, and the Valaraukar."

            They didn't have time to ask why Maeglin and Ninquaion, who seemed happy to ignore his only son, were there, as Turgon went right into his plans. "Rog! You and your sister block this gate," he gestured on a map and Rog nodded. "Six alarms will sound, one for every gate. You sound one when you lose one, we'll sound one when we need you to pull back and hold the previous gate. We're evacuating civilians first, you're our ground line of defense. Galdor! You're with Rog, get your archers on the gates, make sure to take out as many as you can- especially the dragons." He nodded to both, made sure they knew their orders, and they left at a run. 

            "Duilin, you and your people start moving civilians out of my daughter's tunnel. Do it quietly, we don't need any more panic." Duilin left as well, beginning to call out orders to his second in command, Glorfindel's niece. 

            It was the last time Erestor would ever see her again. 

            "Egalmoth, take these two-" he gestured towards Ninquaion and Maeglin, "and get down to the third gate. You'll be running supplies and getting civilians out of there and towards Duilin." Egalmoth bowed before grasping two chains on the floor- one to the neck of each of the traitors. They noticed, now, that their hands were tied behind their backs. "And Egalmoth?" The elf turned, seeking further orders from his king, "If either of them so much as tries anything, you have my permission to kill them both or leave them for the orcs." 

            Maeglin began throwing a fit, but it was for naught- Egalmoth's people were among the first hit, and neither the elven lord nor his King had any pity for them. 

            "Ecthelion!" He called, and Erestor's brother nodded, stepping forward. "This," he said, pointing at a part of the map, "Is a natural choke point. The House of Silver Fountains is near the center of the city. People will flood there for shelter- send them to Duilin, make sure they are protected."

            "My King." He said in response, bowing. He too left, but not before clasping Glorfindel's forearm firmly and sharing a necessarily brief embrace with Erestor. 

             "Salgant, Glorfindel," the King began, and both lords, as well as Erestor, looked upon him. "Get to the Greater Market. Salgant, you start evacuation, Glorfindel, you and your men hold the tides back. You are _not to leave_ unless the walls fall or the evacuation is complete." Both lords bowed, and Salgant nervously exited. He reminded Erestor of a frightened rat. Glorfindel shared a short kiss with his mate and left. Erestor felt a deep foreboding but turned and waited for orders. 

             "Idril, Tuor, get thee to your tunnels, and leave- as soon as you can. Erestor?" He met the King's eyes- something he'd never done previously- and found a discouraging lack of hope. "I count upon you to fulfill your mate's oath. Keep them safe." 

              He bowed, and moved with the family towards the house of Silver Fountains. They'd never moved his armor- Erestor had been intending on making his own, and he never really used his anyway. Trusting the Princess and two Princes to his family, he practically flew down the stairs, stripping off his casual robes as he went. As soon as he arrived to the private armory- reserved for himself, Ecthelion, and their mother- he sought after his own armor. Thick leather pants and a leather vest instead of silks, covered by simple chain mail, with scale armor upon his arms, shoulders, thighs, and shins, it was not a pretty piece of work- its beauty did not matter here. He could have, of course, found the ceremonial mail that many wore, but he cared more for the effectiveness, and one could not fight with his twin blades or his favored quarterstaff in full plate mail. Ecthelion, shortly followed by Gilyā, found him there. His mother wasted no time, quickly tightening leather straps and belts before they both turned to help his brother. 

              Erestor quickly knotted both his mother's and his brother's hair into similar tight buns over which he placed helmets after assisting them with their own chain mail. Gilyā was armored similarly to himself, the only exception being the heavy warhammer strapped to her back instead of a quarterstaff. Ecthelion, however, was a different story. His armor was plate mail, and there were dozens and dozens of pieces. He and his mother worked together as a well-oiled machine, refusing the aide of servants who would only get in the way. Ecthelion wore his sword upon his left hip, as well as a spare knife, and they forebore attaching his shield to his back. He would need it upon his arm. Alarms were sounding already- the first gate had fallen- and so they were left with only enough time to share quick embraces, hurried promises of devotion, and Ecthelion wanted to say goodbye. Erestor refused, stating that he would see his brother on the other side of the tunnel, and Gilyā wept.

              She said her goodbyes to them both. 

              After the silent, tense atmosphere of the armory, the shouts and screams of Gondolin were unwelcome noise. Erestor left to find Idril, Tuor, and Eärendil whilst his mother gathered the servants. They left to the walls, and to the secret tunnel, leading a large party of frightened elves, after Erestor had provided Tuor with a sturdy blade. It, much like Erestor's iron and steel armor, was not pretty; but it was strong, and sharp, and Erestor had no doubt that they would favor function over beauty when the orcs came. 

              Getting to the tunnel was easy enough, but it was crowded already, and despite the efforts of Duilin and his people, it was a clustered and panicked mess. Erestor moved the Princess and her family to the center of his own people after making sure they were organized before helping Duilin with the crowd; soon enough, they were moving once more, four elves standing abreast and some bending their heads. The tunnel would empty out into the pass, and they were ordered, under no uncertain terms, to stay there unless they had a weapon upon them. Those with weapons were to move to the edges of the pass and to the front of the mass in order to better defend them. 

              After the remainders of Egalmoth's house, all of Duilin's, and some of Erestor's own house had went through, another horn sounded. The second gate had fallen, much as the first. Still, if they continued on at this speed, surely they would have enough time- ' _TRAITOR!'_ The enraged thought burned through him, and he could only think- ' _Glorfindel, what has happened to you? Glorfind_ el!' But there was no answer. And then there was screaming, and Erestor turned. Eärendil had been pulled from his arms by none other than a bloody Maeglin, who looked as if he had been beaten. The boy called out for his mother, who was being held back by Elves, and for his father, who was unconscious on the ground. Without so much as a thought, one of Erestor's knives made its' way into his hand, into the air, and then into the back of Maeglin's shoulder. The elf in question cried out at the sudden pain and nearly dropped the elfling, but managed to escape into the city streets. Erestor ran after him, encouraged by the cries of Idril, and found that Tuor had apparently awoken and was chasing after them both. They ran quickly, calling the elfling's name as well as Maeglin's, and chased them up the stairs and to the top of the third gate; Tuor was by now far behind, and Maeglin was nearly in his hands. The wily elf knocked over a barrel, and Erestor tripped, fell, and saw red when he was back up. Tuor leaped over the obstacle and continued chasing the elf; but Maeglin was no warrior, and his stamina was drained. He found his way to the edge with the screaming child still in his arms. "You will let me go!" He commanded breathlessly, before dangling the boy over the flames, "Or I will let _him_ go!"

              They were both frozen; if they released Maeglin, the elf would probably drop the boy anyway. But if they didn't- Erestor knew, without a doubt, that the only son of Idril and Tuor would die. Tuor was bargaining now, begging for the life of his son, but Erestor was not paying attention to his words. Maeglin shifted his arm in, just a little- the boy was no longer a light newborn- and Erestor took his chance. He jumped, not for Maeglin, but for the child, and managed to knock himself off of the wall. He kept the child, who screamed at the impact, tucked into his chest, hanging onto the edge with just one hand. Maeglin followed afterwards, striking the walls thrice before finding his death in the flames below. Another horn sounded, and he could see Rog and Naraca's men move backwards towards Egalmoth's. Terror filled him, and he could feel, just barely, Glorfindel's consciousness warning him of the betrayal of Salgant and escape of Maeglin before he was hauled up and allowed to flop on the flat part of the gate. The gate was shaking, however, and he saw, to his horror, a flying drake impact the walls. They rushed down, Tuor choosing to check on his son after making sure he would not die by the fire of a dragon within the next few minutes. 

              They made their way to the tunnel again, where even more had gathered, and the two warriors limped along as best they could. Though most of the House of the Silver Fountain had made their way through, Idril still waited, this time in a mass of Galdor's folk. The family came together, but Erestor interrupted their moment by bodily shoving them towards the gate. "Hurry!" He called. "Salgant has turned traitor upon us as well!" The pace increased, and, against Idril's wishes- she wanted to make sure her father would be coming- he forced them to continue through the tunnel. Galdor's folk were handled with ease, when two horns were sounded in rapid succession. Another flood of refugees, more work to be done. There were people from Glorfindel's - _his,_ he still has to remind himself-, and they worried over him while he forced them to go through. Next came the warriors of Salgant's house and of the Golden Flower, his husband among them. 

              He looked upon his mate with joy, but the soldiers with suspicion. Unwilling to waste any time, he was promptly gathered into an embrace. ' _Salgant betrayed us, but his soldiers stayed true.'_ Glorfindel thought towards him. He found the connection they shared to be useful, especially in times such as this, when their mouths were much too busy doing other things. Erestor informed him quickly about Maeglin, not bothering to attempt hiding the guilt. Would Maeglin have been cast down if Erestor's aim had been better? Did this count as a kinslaying? 

              "Yes to the first, my love. I've no doubt Tuor claimed vengeance for the attempted slaying of his son. But you yourself did not kill him- this was no kinslaying." The golden-haired elf's words brought him comfort, and after Glorfindel called a quick order, they went forth into the masses, seeking what remained of the royal family and Gilyā. They found his mother with the remainders of the House of the Silver Fountain- and she refused to look at them. 

              "Naneth?" Erestor called, placing a hand on her armored forearm. The elleth merely shook her head, and Erestor felt dread fill him. 

              "Naneth," he asked nervously, "where is Ecthelion?"

              The armored she-elf choked out a sob, and suddenly Erestor found himself with his arms full of his mother's armored bulk. It was only now that he noticed the laments some were singing- and he found himself afraid of the answer. "He is gone." She cried into his shoulder. "He is- those _BEASTS!_  They- he slew them, all of them, but- trapped, his sword was in the- and he-" She broke off again, unable to coherently say what needed to be said. "Valaraukar. Three of them; they are gone, and so is he."

              The two wept together, and would have fallen to their knees if not for the large warrior holding onto them. Glorfindel wept as well for the loss of his closest friend, and felt his mate's grief at losing his brother as if it were his own. The blonde raised his head at the sound of screams- orcs were flooding out of the tunnel. Duilin and his folk- the only house still with all their lords and ladies living besides the Golden Flower- were stemming the tide. Warriors from all the houses ran towards it to help, but the archway collapsed, burying both the House of the Swallow and the dark creatures. 

              Many cried out, sobs racked the gathered elves. Erestor swallowed and stepped back from the warm circle of his mother's and Glorfindel's arms, and began to call out orders. The Princess, Tuor, and their son were still at the center of his own people, and Glorfindel promised to take care of them whilst he himself took care of what remained of their people. Soon, he, with the help of a few assorted second-sons and daughters of Lords and soldiers, had their people organized once more and, more importantly, moving. They headed onto the pass, sheer cliffs on either side, and then Erestor heard a roar over sudden screams. He would remember this roar for the rest of his life. 

              Nigh thirteen feet tall, winged and fiery, one of the Valaraukar stepped onto the pass, blocking them from leaving. A few elves, in their desperation to get back, fell off of the sides of the cliffs- they tried to turn, but there was nothing to turn back _to_. And then something else happened- something else that Erestor would remember forever. 

              An elf, tall, strong, and broad of shoulder, stepped forth in challenge. The Valaraukar was as hideous and horrific as the rotting corpse of some animal, left to moulder in a cave. Glorfindel was as beautiful and terrible as the dawn, but only horror filled him. The head turned in his direction, and Glorfindel gave him a promise: ' _No matter what happens, I will come back to you.'_

              And he challenged the Valaraukar. Erestor was tugged away from the fight, and forced to give orders- soldiers were sent to the very back, the orcs had come through- and archers were sent to the front, hopefully to hit the Valaraukar and not his husband. He turned back at the sound of a roar, different this time, and sobbed in relief; the beast had fallen. Bloody and burnt, but _alive_ , his husband stood triumphant, and turned to come back to them. The relief was short-lived. Erestor screamed out a warning as soon as he saw the black maw, but Glorfindel, wounded, was too slow. The beast took hold of his golden mane, which had fallen from its' braids, and dragged him down to the cliffs and river below. Erestor felt the moment in which his mind, body, and soul became solely his own once more. His mother caught him, and he realized that someone was desperately screaming. It took him a moment to realize that that someone was him.  _  
_

He had no time for grief, however. They were forced through the pass, then down below to the shores of the river. Eagles then came, scattering most of the remaining host of Morgoth, and the greatest of their number, Thorondor, brought back his body. They buried him there, Erestor unable to do more than weep near the grave. Celandines bloomed there before they left. Erestor and the other survivors of the Fall left then, broken-hearted and discouraged. His mother came to him shortly after the burial, and gave to him Glorfindel's wedding ring, his own wedding circlet, and the half-made shining mithril circlet that would have been for Ecthelion. Ecthelion would have no use for it now. They left the Encircling Mountains, and headed towards Sirion. Though it took many months, his mother faded from Arda, joining his brother and his husband in Namo's halls. Idril and Tuor sailed after Eärendil met his soon-to-be wife Elwing.

              And Erestor remained there, weathering more attacks by the sons of Fëanor, and his own brand of fading, until Elrond and Elros were taken from him by Maglor and Maedhros. 

              Driven by his husband's vow, much as the sons of Fëanor, he followed. A new journey had begun; but Erestor found no joy in it as he waited, cold and dark, for his Glorfindel to return. 


End file.
